MY  LADY 
CINDERELLA 


'■] 


MRS.C.  N.  n     WILLIAMSON 


MY 

LADY  CINDERELLA 


BY 

MRS.  C.  N.  WILLIAMSON 

COAUTHOR   OF 

*'Lady  Betty  Crosses  the  Water/' 
"  My  Friend  the  Chauffeur,'* 
**The  Lightning  Conductor," 
**The  Princess  Passes,"  Etc. 


CHICAGO : 

M.  A.  DoNOHUE  &  Co. 


Copyright  1906  by 
B.  W.  DODGE   AND    COMPANY 

Nevt  York 


CONTENTS 

pAoa 

CHAPTER 

I.  The  Day  when  So^iething  Happened        .  1 

IT.  The  Mysterious  Visitor       .        .        .        •  '^ 

III.  The  Haunting  Victoria       .        .        .        •  ^^ 

IV.  I  Fling  down  the  Gauntlet  to  Fate       .  20 
V.    I  Make  a  Mistake ""^ 

VI.    What  I  Saw  in  the  Mirror        .        •        .42 

VII.     The  Plausibility  of  Mr.  Wynnstay  .        .      49 

VIII.     The  Meeting  That  was  not  a  Coincidence      62 

IX.    The  Benefit  of  the  Doubt         ...      78 

X.     I  Understudy  Cinderella    ...-»- 

XI.    The  First  Act  of  the  Play        .        .        •    ^^^ 

XII.    Must  he  Who  Breaks  Pay  ?         .        •        -     Hi 

XIII.  Lady  Dunbar  and  a  Catechism  .        .        .     ^^S 

XIV.  A  Surprise  for  Cousin  Sarah     .        .        .    ^26 
XV.    Links  in  a  Chain ^ 

XVI.    Sesame  and  Lilies ^"'^ 

■in  A 

XVII.     The  Masked  Singers 

XVIII.  Diana  Throws  down  the  Glove         .        .    181 

XIX.  A  Paragraph  in  a  Letter  .        .        •        'ISO 

XX  "I  Hold  You   in    the   Hollow    op    My 

HAND" '^'^ 

iii 


IV 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAOK 

XXI.  The  Ordeal  by  Fire          .        .        .        .216 

XXII.  "Then  You'll  Remember  Me"        .        .    229 

XXIII.  "  Wanted  Immediately  "  ....    343 

XXIV.  The  Story  That  the  Housekeeper  Told    264 
XXV.  A  Glass  of  Green  Chartreuse        .        .    278 

XXVI,  A  Flash  op  Light  on  a  White  Hand     .    286 

XXVII.     Afterwards 298 

XXVIII.  "  Ring  Out  the  Old,  Ring  in  the  New  "    310 

XXIX.  The  Contents  op  the  Secret  Drawer  .    31A 


MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  DAY  WHEN   SOMETHING  HAPPENED 

To-day  I  had  meant  to  be  a  happy  day.  But, 
after  all,  I  was  miserable.  I  would  have  given 
a  great  deal  to  be  almost  anywhere  else — ^yes, 
even  at  home  in  Cousin  Sarah  East's  villa  In  Peckham. 

I  had  never  thought  of  myself  as  a  vain  girl;  but 
I  suppose  it  was  a  morbid  sort  of  vanity  that  induced 
so  keen  a  pang  of  shamed  distress  on  this  glorious  June 
day  in  the  Park. 

Anne  Bryden,  who  had  brought  me,  and  proudly 
paid  for  the  chairs  to  which  we  had  found  our  way 
through  the  crowd,  looked  serenely  blissful.  She  was 
not  one  whit  depressed  by  the  fact  that  she  and  I 
were  the  only  ugly  ducklings  in  this  dazzling  array  of 
swans.  Forgotten  was  her  rusty  black  frock,  with  the 
cheap,  pathetic  jet  trimming  on  the  bodice;  her  last 
year's  hat,  with  its  faded  pink  roses,  had  practically 
ceased  to  exist. 


2  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

It  did  not  even.'o(;ciir;to.her  that  it  might  be  well  to 
give,  her  shabby.  |>Qot8  the  prott'ction  of  her  skirt.  This 
lack  'of  ^self-Go'ftScicHisnesg*  "Struck  me  as  scarcely  short 
of  greatness  in  Anne.  It  was  almost  above  the  level 
of  the  feminine,  and  far  above  the  level  of  the  Me. 

It  was  not  often  that  I  could  get  a  holiday  from 
Cousin  Sarah's  babies,  to  whom  I  had  the  honour  of 
being  nursery  governess — alias  nursemaid — with  a 
mingling  of  "general  servant's"  duties.  There  were  no 
regular  "days  out"  for  me,  but  Cousin  Sarah  consid- 
ered Anne  "a  most  respectable  young  woman."  (Anne 
had  with  unwonted  diplom.acy  praised  the  house,  ad- 
mired the  babies,  and  deferred  to  Cousin  Sarah's  opin- 
ion during  the  one  visit  I  had  received  from  her  at 
Happiholme  Villa.)  Accordingly,  this  whole  long 
June  afternoon  in  her  society  had  been  granted. 

I  ought  to  have  been  radiant,  revelling  in  the  pretty 
faces,  the  prettier  dresses,  and  the  glittering  equipages 
of  my  betters,  but  instead  I  sat  wishing  that  I  were 
not  ashamed  to  ask  Anne  if  she  were  ready  to  go  away; 
concealing  the  mended  finger-tips  of  my  gloves  by  curl- 
ing my  hands  into  fists,  and  feeling  utterly  wretched 
that  I,  who  adored  beauty,  must  be  so  hopelessly  out 
of  the  picture. 

Carriage  after  carriage  rolled  by;  well-groomed, 
clean-limbed  men  lounged  over  the  railings,  and  raised 
their  tall,  shining  hats  to  the  occupants,  or  chatted  with 
exquisitely-dressed  girls,  who  looked  like  floating  flow- 
ers, under  their  tinted  chiffon  and  lace  parasols.  The 
rhododendrons  were  a  flame  of  glorious  colour;  the 
distance  was  blue  with  the  soft  mist  that  hung,  ineffable 


WHEN    SOMETHING    HAPPENED        5 

and  pensive,  above  the  Serpentine,  and  the  far,  billowy 
reaches  of  sweet-smelling,  new-cut  grass  in  the  Park. 

"It's  a  nice  world,  isn't  it  ?"  remarked  Anne,  apropos 
of  everything — everything  but  ourselves. 

"Yes.  And  there  are  lots  of  nice  times  in  it.  Only 
w^e're  not  in  any  of  them." 

Anne  looked  critically  at  me. 

"You  ought  to  be.  Con,"  she  observed,  after  an  inter- 
val of  reflection.  "As  for  me,  I  don't  count.  I'm  no- 
bod)^  I  wasn't  born  to  things,  and  I  don't  expect 
them.  But  you — you  are  different.  You  are  a  beauty. 
And  you  are  a  mystery.  A  book  could  be  written  about 
you." 

I  laughed  a  little. 

"It  would  have  to  be  a  book  for  children.  Nothing 
has  ever  happened  to  me  since  I  was  a  child,  and  then 
— they  wxre  all  sad  things." 

"But  you  are  the  sort  of  girl  that  things  do  happen 
to.  They  will  yet ;  you  mark  my  words." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Oh,  if  they  only  would!  I'm  so,  so  tired  of  Peck- 
ham.    If  something  would  happen  to-day!" 

"What  would  you  like  best  to  happen?"  queried 
Anne. 

"Am  I  to  have  my  choice?  Are  you  a  fairy  god- 
mother in  disguise?  Well,  I  should  say.  Please,  fairy 
godmother,  you  see  that  beauteous  maiden  in  pink  mus- 
lin, driving  with  her  mother  in  the  particularly  desir- 
able victoria?"  (As  I  spoke  my  eyes  focussed  upon 
a  wonderful  girl  who  laughed  haughtily,  lazily  con- 
scious that  she  was  one  of  Fortune's  supreme  favour- 


4  MY   LADY    CINDERELLA 

ites.)  'Well,  then,  dear  fairy  godmother,  wave  your 
magic  wand  which  so  sadly  resembles  a  three-and-six- 
penny  umbrella,  and  make  me,  if  only  for  the  space 
of  one  gorgeous  month,  like  her.  Give  me  as  many 
Paris  gowns,  as  much  fun,  as  wild  a  whirl  of  gaiety, 
as  she  will  enjoy  this  season.  It  isn't  a  very  noble  or 
exalted  wish;  but  I'm  in  the  mood  for  that,  and  noth- 
ing else,  to-day." 

Anne's  chair  was  on  my  left.  On  my  right,  sep- 
arated by  a  little  distance,  I  had  been  conscious  for 
the  past  half-hour  of  a  vague  cloudiness  of  silk  and 
muslin  that  represented  a  woman.  I  had  not  actually 
glanced  in  her  direction,  but  the  corner  of  my  eye  had 
reflected  a  pale  lavender  fluff  which  was  a  sunshade. 
Now,  suddenly,  it  was  lifted,  and  a  soft  voice  addressed 
me  from  underneath. 

''Do  forgive  me,  won't  you?  I  really  can't  resist 
speaking.  I  don't  want  to  be  rude.  On  the  contrary, 
I  wish  to  be  very  nice.  But — I  couldn't  help  over- 
hearing some  of  the  things  that  you  and  your  friend 
have  been  saying." 

I  felt  the  colour  stealing  up,  as  I  racked  my  brain 
to  recall  exactly  what  we  had  been  saying.  Anne 
was  staring  in  blank  surprise ;  for  this  was  a  personage 
of  great  magnificence  who  was  endeavouring  to  draw 
us  into  conversation,  and  no  doubt  Anne  was  wonder- 
ing, even  as  I  was  wondering,  what  could  be  the  motive 
of  such  apparently  purposeless  condescension.  ^ 

The  lady  was  of  middle  age — if  women  who  frame 
their  personal  charms  with  the  best  can  ever  appear 
of  middle  age.     She  had  elaborately  undulated  brown 


WHEN    SOMETHING    HAPPENED        5 

hair,  under  a  bonnet  that  was  a  poem,  in  one  verse; 
bright,  searching  brown  eyes,  and  a  complexion  that 
could  still  live  up  to  its  past.  As  for  her  gown,  it 
was  too  exquisitely  Parisian  to  have  been  made  out 
of  London. 

''Don't  look  so  horrified,"  she  smiled.  "Vm  not  mad, 
only  a  little  eccentric.  That  means  that  some  of  my 
friends  think  me  a  genius.  I  wonder  what  you  would 
think  me  if  I  suggested  that  you  tried  me  as  a  fairy 
godmother?" 

She  spoke  to  me,  not  Anne.  She  did  not  even  look 
at  Anne  after  the  first  courteous,  comprehensive 
glance. 

"Why,  I — I'm  afraid  I'd  think  you  were  making  fun 
of  me,"  I  stammered,  since  some  answer  must  be  given. 

"Then  you'd  be  mistaken.  I  fancied,  from  some  of 
the  expressions  which  I  involuntarily  overheard,  that 
you  were  not — well,  not  quite  a  conventional  girl ;  that 
you  had  an  original  way  of  regarding  life.  If  you  have, 
we  might  cultivate  each  other's  acquaintance  w^th 
mutual  advantage." 

"I  should  find  it  more  interesting  to  know  you  than 
you  would  to  know  me,"  I  said  meekly,  for  I  felt  as 
if  I  must  have  fallen  asleep  in  my  chair,  and  be  dream- 
ing. 

"That  remains  to  be  seen.  Your  preface  looks  prom- 
ising. Let's  begin,  if  you  don't  mind,  to  cut  each 
other's  leaves.  My  name  is  Sophie  de  Gretton — Lady 
Sophie  de  Gretton,  strangers  call  me.  What  is  yours? 

"Consuelo  Brand,"  I  answered. 

I  had  never  talked  to  a  Lady  Anybody  in  my  life, 


6  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

but  though  her  aquiline  nose  and  thin  red  line  of  lips 
might  be  formidable  if  she  chose,  she  was  easier  to 
talk  to  than  Cousin  Sarah's  friends  in  Peckham. 

"What  a  queer  name!  Why  did  they  call  you  Con- 
suelo?" 

I  blushed  vividly. 

"My  mother  had  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  She 
hoped  I  would  be  her  consolation." 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon ;  I  didn't  mean  to  be  pry- 
ing. But  it's  my  turn  to  impart  information  now.  I 
live  close  by,  in  Park  Lane.  You  can  almost  see  my 
house  from  here.  I  strolled  into  the  Park  by  myself 
because  I  wanted  to  think." 

"And  our  chatter  disturbed  you." 

"On  the  contrary,  it  has  been  most  helpful — ^why,  is 
my  secret.  But  what  do  you  say,  you  and  your  friend, 
to  going  home  with  me  and  having  a  talk  over  a  cup 
of  tea?" 

My  heart  gave  a  little  jump.  Here  was  an  adven- 
ture! The  shabby  nursery-governess  from  Peckham 
asked  to  tea  with  a  Personage  in  Park  Lane! 

"I  should  like  it  immensely,  thank  you,  and  so  would 
my  friend,  Anne  Bryden,  I'm  sure." 

I  turned  to  Anne,  but  her  face  expressed  disap- 
proval. I  could  read  her  thoughts,  and  guessed  that 
she  was  saying  to  herself:  "Humph  1  how  do  we  know 
that  this  bird  of  paradise  isn't  a  ^ham?  If  she  is 
really  what  she  pretends  to  be,  why  on  earth  should 
she  pick  us  up  and  invite  us,  after  a  ten  minutes' 
conversation,  to  visit  her?  There's  something  pretty 
queer  about  this." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  VISITOR 

Anne^  whom  I  had  known  ever  since  my  dear  dead 
mother  and  I  had  stopped  at  the  boarding-house  which 
her  mother  kept,  was  now  a  mixture  of  typewriter, 
secretary,  and  companion  to  a  vulgar,  newly-rich  ma- 
tron engaged  in  storming  the  outworks  of  society,  and 
it  was  part  of  Anne's  duty,  I  remembered,  to  read 
aloud  endless  columns  of  society  gossip,  bristling  with 
titles.  Probably  she  was  familiar  with  that  of  Lady 
Sophie  de  Gretton,  who  lived  in  Park  Lane,  and  be- 
lieved that  our  eccentric  new  friend  was  for  some 
nefarious  purpose  of  her  own  masquerading  in  bor- 
rowed plumage. 

"I'm  afraid,"  she  replied  stiffly  to  the  question  in  my 
eyes,  "that  it's  rather  late,  and  we  ought  to  be  getting 
home.  We  don't  live  in  Park  Lane,  and  we've  a  long 
way  to  go." 

"Come  alone.  Miss  Brand,  if  your  friend  has  no 
time  to  spare,"  suggested  the  lady  in  lavender. 

It  was  a  tempt-^'on.  Never  would  such  a  chance 
be  thrown  in  my  way  again ;  my  future  was  bounde-^ 
by  Peckham.    Yet  I  could  not  leave  Anne. 

"Don't  you  think  we  might,  dear?"  I  pleaded.  "I 
won't  go  without  you.   But— it  would  be  pleasant." 

7 


8  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

"I  wouldn't  dream  of  letting  you  go  alone,"  said 
Anne,  with  the  air  of  preserving  me  from  a  death-trap. 
"If  you  really  wish  it  so  much,  I  dare  say  we  might 
manage  a  few  minutes." 

Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton  rose. 

"We  won't  delay,  then,  if  you  haven't  much  time 
to  spend,  for  I  have  several  things  to  say  which  I 
think  will  surprise  and  interest  you." 

Anne  walked  along,  keeping  those  big  gray  eyes  of 
hers  wide  open.  I  hoped  Lady  Sophie  did  not  realise 
that  she  was  waiting  to  see  whether  we  should  indeed 
be  led  into  Park  Lane. 

But  we  were  led  there,  and  stopped  before  a  quaint, 
pretty  little  white  house,  sandwiched  in  between  two 
big  ones,  its  windows  blossoming  with  pink  and  white 
geraniums,  and  frothing  over  with  snowy,  frilled  cur- 
tains. So  far  the  adventure  seemed  genuine;  and  the 
footman  who  opened  the  door  (respectfully  addressing 
our  companion  as  "my  lady")  was  grand  enough  to 
convince  even  Anne. 

We  passed  through  a  miniature  hall,  whose  walls 
could  not  be  seen  for  exquisite  engravings,  went  up 
half  a  stairway,  and  had  the  door  of  a  fairy  bower 
thrown  open  for  us.  Cousin  Sarah  East  would  have 
scorned  chintz  for  her  parlour  in  Peckham,  where  she 
had  a  "suite"  of  saddlebag,  or  something  else  that 
sounded  horsy  to  the  ear;  but  Lady  Sophie  de 
Gretton's  drawing-room  was  all  white  and  green  and 
rosy  and  ruffly  with  chintz. 

We  sat  down,  I  feeling  more  conscious  of  my  dusty 
old  boots  and  serge,  white  round  the  seams,  than  ever. 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    VISITOR  9 

Presently  the  footman  brought  tea,  with  strawberries 
and  cream  and  tiny  cakes,  and  quantities  of  silver  that 
looked  imposingly  ancestral. 

*'Now  for  business!"  exclaimed  Lady  Sophie,  when 
I  had  grown  more  and  more  dazed  with  the  thought 
that  I  was  dreaming  her,  and  Anne's  shrewd  little 
brown  face  had  relaxed  into  a  mingling  of  curiosity 
and  good  nature. 

It  was  to  be  business,  then!  I  was  stabbed  with 
humiliating  dread  lest  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton  were 
oa  the  committee  of  a  girls'  friendly  society,  and  had 
gathered  us  in  as  likely  candidates.  She  had  a  brusque 
way  of  speaking,  despite  her  low,  sweet  voice,  and  she 
w^ent  on  abruptly: 

"You  haven't  told  me  yet  where  you  live." 

"In  another  world,"  I  retorted.  "They  call  it 
Peckham." 

"Do  you  like  this  better?" 

"Yes,"  entering  into  the  spirit  of  the  catechism. 

"How  would  you  like  to  have  that  wish  of  yours 
granted — as  I  hinted  it  might  be,  if  you  would  trust 
to  my  wand — and  live  here,  surrounded  by  the  joys 
v/hlch  I  heard  you  cataloguing  to  your  fairy  god- 
mother? Now,  don't  fall  into  error  again,  and  fancy 
I'm  making  fun  of  you,  for  I'm  not.  I'm  asking  you 
a  serious  question,  and  I  want  a  serious  answer." 

A  curious  tingling  chill  was  creeping  up  from  my 
finger-tips. 

"I — I  don't  think  I  understand  you,"  I  heard  some- 
body say,  and  was  dimly  aware  that  the  somebody 
could  only  be  myself. 


lo  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

"Yes,  you  do.  If  you  are  dumfounded,  it  is  be- 
cause you  are  a  singularly  modest  young  woman.  Turn 
round ;  glance  at  that  mirror  on  the  wall  near  you,  and 
see  whether  you  can  guess  why  a  rather  lonely,  ec- 
centric person,  who  is  tired  of  most  things  and  pines 
for  variety,  might  be  seized  wilth  a  sudden  violent 
desire  to  have  you  for — for  a  new  doll  to  play  with?" 

I  did  not  take  her  at  her  word,  and  glance  mirror- 
ward,  for  I  was  familiar  enough  with  the  reflection  I 
should  have  met  there;  though,  to  be  sure,  I  only  saw 
it  in  small,  greenish  sections  at  home.  I  was  not 
ignorant  of  the  fact  that  I  was  pretty,  or  might  be 
pretty,  in  a  decent  dress;  but  I  had  not  suspected  that 
I  was  pretty  enough  to  triumph  over  the  combined  hat 
(which  the  youngest  East  had  sat  on  in  a  rage  this 
morning) ,  boots  and  serge. 

"You  don't  answer.  Don't  you  think  your  people 
would  let  you  come  for  a  while?" 

"I  have  no  people.  Only  a  cousin,  who  doesn't  like 
any  one  to  know  that  we're  cousins.  When  she  is  angry 
she  says  she  'keeps  me  out  of  charity.'  When  I  answer 
her  back,  I  say  that  I  more  than  earn  my  own  living. 
Sometimes  she  tells  me  she  wishes  I  were  out  of  her 
sight  forever.  I  don't  know  whether  she  means  it 
or  not,  but  I  do  not  suppose  she  could  force  me  to  stay 
if  I  were  determined  to  go." 

I  made  these  explanations  jerkily,  and  then,  at  the 
end,  before  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton  could  comment 
upon  them,  I  broke  out: 

"But  why — why  do  you  say  such  strange  things  to 
me,  whom  you  never  saw  till  an  hour  ago?     There 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    VISITOR  iv 

are  thousands  of  girls  whom  you  know  who  would 
love  to  come  and  visit  you — poor  girls,  perhaps,  yet 
in  your  own  class  of  life.  Why  do  you  put  such  ideas 
in  my  head  when  you  must  feel,  if  you  stop  to  think, 
that  by  to-night  you  will  be  sorry,  and  have  to  dis- 
appoint the  poor  'doll'  you  wanted  to  play  with?" 

*'My  mind  is  made  up,"  she  quietly  returned.  "As 
for  the  'why — why'  u-hich  3'ou  fling  at  me,  can't  you 
be  satisfied  with  the  explanation  I  have  given?  I've 
set  my  heart  on  having  you  to  play  with.  You  are 
the  prettiest  doll  in  the  whole  shop,  and  I  hope  to 
get  you  comparatively  cheap." 

"But  what  would  you  do  with  me?" 

"Oh,  put  you  into  pretty  frocks,  take  you  about  with 
me,  and  show  you  off." 

"There  must  be  some  other  reason." 

I  had  not  meant  to  speak  aloud,  for  the  words 
sounded  ungracious.  But  they  broke  forth  without  my 
volition. 

Lady  Sophie's  handsome  face  flushed,  and  she  bit 
her  lip.  For  an  instant  her  eyes  appeared  to  flinch 
from  mine,  and  suspicion,  vague,  yet  sharply  pinching, 
clutched  my  perturbed  spirit. 

"Well,  if  you  must  have  it,  my  fancy  for  you  arose 
partly  from  a  resemblance  to  some  one  I  used  to  know 
and  admire  years  ago.  I  noticed  it  the  instant  I  saw 
you  in  the  Park,  and  though  you  did  not  guess  that 
I  observed  you,  I  hardly  took  my  eyes  from  your  face, 
peeping  under  the  frills  on  my  sunshade,  until  I  spoke 
to  you.  Now  that  I've  exhibited  mj^self  as  a  woman 
of  sentiment — a  creature  I  despise — are  you  satisfied?" 


12  MY   LADY   CINDERELLA 

Perforce,  I  had  to  answer  falteringly  that  I  was.  But 
suspicion,  once  roused,  would  not  be  put  to  sleep  again 
so  soon.  There  was  a  look  in  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton's 
eyes  w^hich  told  me  (or  I  morbidly  imagined  it) 
that  there  was  still  something  concealed  under  her 
most  unexpected,  most  astonishing  offer.  I  felt  this 
electrically,  yet  I  would  not  listen  to  the  subdued 
whisperings. 

What  if  there  were  something  else?  What  did  it 
matter?  What  did  anything  matter  if  this  transfor- 
mation of  my  life  could  come  about?  I  was  intoxi- 
cated by  the  cup  that  she  held  out  to  me,  and  I 
would  have  been  ready  to  drink  it  down  to  the  dregs 
— if  only  I  need  not  taste  the  dregs  quite  yet. 

"I  must  be  hard  to  please  if  I  were  not  satisfied," 
I  said.  "But  I'm  so  bewildered,  you  must  forgive  me. 
Only  tell  me,  since  you  say  this  is  real  and  serious, 
what  I  am  to  do." 

"You  are  to  get  leave,  and  come  to  stop  with  me, 
as  soon  as  you  can." 

"Oh,  for  how  long?  A  week — a  fortnight — if  you 
won't  mind  my  asking?" 

"Would  it  be  worth  while  your  offending  your 
Peckham  relative  and  losing  a  home  for  a  fortnight?" 

I  drew  in  my  breath.  The  room  swam  before  my 
eyes. 

"Yes!"  I  cried  recklessly.  "It  would  be  worth  it 
all — for  that.  For  a  fortnight  I  should  have  lived. 
\  should  'have  had  my  day,*  and  surely  something, 
wome  sort  of  work,  would  turn  up  later." 

"Brava!  you're  a  girl  after  my  own  heart.     You 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    VISITOR  13 

are  a  ivoman  who  dares.  I  was  only  trying  you.  I'd 
keep  you  longer  than  a  fortnight.  Just  how  long,  I'm 
too  honest,  Miss  Brand,  to  pretend  to  settle  now.  It 
would  depend  on  many  things." 

Again  her  eyes  dropped  away  from  mine  as  if  their 
falling  lashes  would  hide  something  of  mystery.  But 
I  was  used  to  mysterj^  I  had  had  it  in  my  own  life, 
so  close,  so  intimate  a  companion,  that  familiarity  had 
bred  contempt — or  carelessness. 

"Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof;  and  you 
would  have  to  trust  me  to  see  that  your  future  pros- 
pects at  Peckham  or  elsewhere  were  not  endangered. 
Meanwhile  I  can  promise  you  this:  While  your  visit 
lasts  you  shall  have  everything  that  the  most  spoiled 
and  petted  girl  could  ask  for — quite  as  much  as  the 
one  you  took  for  an  example  in  speaking  to  your 
friend  in  the  Park.  By  the  way,  I  know  her  well, 
and  you  shall  know  her  too,  if  you  wish,  though  I 
warn  you  she  doesn't  easily  tolerate  rivals,  and  you 
will  be  so  dangerous  a  one  that  the  rose  of  her  ac- 
quaintance may  have  its  thorns." 

I  wonder  if  a  spirit  of  prophecy  had  entered  into 
Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton,  that  she  should  have  made  use 
of  just  those  words? 

As  she  spoke  the  door  opened,  and  the  footman  who 
had  brought  in  tea  appeared. 

"Sir  George  Seaforth,  my  lady "  he  had  decor- 
ously begun,  when  his  mistress  sprang  up  impulsively, 
her  face  flushing.  Her  eyes  darted  to  the  doorway, 
well-nigh  blocked  by  the  man's  padded  shoulders,  and 
so  doing  her  features  slightly  relaxed. 


J4  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

The  visitor  was,  at  all  events,  not  close  behind  the 
servant,  and  for  some  reason  she  was  glad  of  the 
respite. 

"Where  is  he?"  she  questioned,  a  slight  quiver  in 
her  voice. 

''I  showed  Sir  George  into  the  boudoir,  your  lady- 
ship, thinking  you  were  engaged." 

"Ah!"  with  a  little  relieved  sigh.  "That  was  right, 
William.     I  will  see  him  there  in  a  few  minutes." 

William  vanished;  the  door  closed;  Lady  Sophie 
remembered  us.  But  there  w^as  a  subtle  change  in 
her  manner. 

"It  is  settled,  then?"  she  asked. 

Her  tone  was  almost  impatient,  and,  as  soon  as  I 
had  murmured  "Yes,"  she  hurried  on: 

"Good!  Can  you  get  away  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row? Ah,  I'm  very  pleased.  I  will — but  no,  on  sec- 
ond thoughts,  for  several  reasons,  perhaps  I'd  better 
not  drive  to  Peckham  for  you.  You  shall  come  here, 
but  don't  bother  about — er — much  packing.  It  will 
amuse  you  to  choose  a  new  outfit  with  me.  I  may 
depend  on  you?  Then  I  won't  keep  you  and  Miss 
— er — Bryden  longer  now,  as  she  is  in  haste;  and  I've 
an  early  dinner,  for  a  theatre  party  to  dress  for,  too. 
Good-bye,  or,  rather,  au  revoir!" 

Before  we  knew  what  had  happened  we  had  been 
cordially  shaken  hands  with,  William  had  been  rung 
for  to  show  us  out,  and  we  were  in  the  warm  June 
sunlight  of  Park  Lane  again,  banished  from  fairyland, 
humbly  waiting  for  an  omnibus. 

"Why  was  she  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of  us?" 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    VISITOR  15 

queried  Anne.  "And  why  was  she  so  pleased  be- 
cause the  footman  had  shown  that  man  into  another 
room?" 

My  ears  tingled  with  the  sting  of  my  conviction. 

"She  was  ashamed  to  have  any  one  see  us  in  our 
dowdy  clothes.  And  that  brute  of  a  William  was 
ashamed,  too.     That's  why." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?  I  don't.  It  goes  deeper 
than  that.  Mark  my  words.  Con:  there's  a  mystery 
of  some  sort,  and  the  man  who  called  is  mixed  up  in 
it.  Don't  go  to  stop  with  that  woman,  dear.  It's 
all  too  fantastic.  No  good  can  come  of  it,  but  maybe 
dreadful  harm  to  you." 

No  wonder  that  Anne's  words  struck  coldly  on  my 
heart.  It  was  odd  that  she,  as  well  as  I,  should  have 
suspected  something  hidden,  for  Lady  Sophie  de  Gret- 
ton's  explanation,  though  eccentric,  had  sounded  frank 
enough.  I  would  not  have  given  up  my  new  prospects, 
chimerical  as  they  still  appeared,  unwise  as  it  was, 
according  to  an  old  proverb,  to  exchange  "a  bird  in  the 
hand  for  tAvo  in  the  bush,"  but  since  the  entrance  of 
the  footman  to  announce  a  visitor  my  excitement  had 
been  dying  down.  Now  I  felt  chilled  and  unhappy, 
yet  obstinate. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  I  said  sulkily.  "It's  done  now, 
for  good  or  evil.  I  wish  an  omnibus  would  come." 
'  But  at  an  unseen  distance  something  had  happened, 
and  there  was  a  block  in  the  stream  of  traffic.  Not 
an  omnibus  was  in  sight,  and  none  of  the  carriages 
packed  into  Hamilton  Place  were  able  to  move  out 
into  Piccadilly.     Anne  and  I  were  obliged  to  stand 


i6  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

close  by  the  curbstone  waiting,  and  though  I  was  In 
too  reckless  a  mood  to  care  whether  I  were  late  In 
arriving  at  Happlholme  V^illa  or  not,  I  was  also  too 
impatient  to  tolerate  waiting.  I  wanted  to  be  off;  I 
wanted  to  be  going  somewhere,  an)rvvhere.  Anne  and 
I  could  only  be  together  in  an  omnibus  for  a  certain 
length  of  time;  we  must  then  separate,  she  proceeding 
in  one  direction,  I  in  another. 

Only  a  little  while  ago  I  had  disliked  the  Idea  of 
parting  with  her;  now^  I  welcomed  it,  for  I  did  not 
wish  her  to  continue  her  conscientious  efforts  at  dissua- 
sion. We  might  have  walked  on  at  this  juncture,  allow- 
ing an  omnibus  finally  to  overtake  us,  and  Anne  sug- 
gested the  plan,  only  to  have  it  vetoed  by  me.  If 
we  walked  she  would  have  plenty  of  opportunity  for 
further  argument;  in  an  omnibus,  where  all  our 
neighbours  might  hang  upon  our  words,  private  conver- 
sation would  be  im.practicable. 

So  we  stood  still,  I  feverishly  discussing  the  hats 
and  frocks  in  the  carriages  packed  along  the  waiting 
line,  and  nearly  ten  minutes  must  have  passed  before 
a  movement  ahead  became  perceptible.  We  w^re  still 
close  to  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton's  when  at  last  the 
omnibus  w^e  desired  came  in  sight. 

It  was  rattling  along  at  great  speed  to  make  up 
for  lost  time,  and,  as  the  driver  seemed  disinclined 
to  see  our  insignificance,  I  boldly  dashed  out  to  head 
It  off  before  the  more  cautious  Anne  had  left  the 
pavement. 

I  had  stretched  out  my  hand  to  grasp  the  rail,  when 
an  Impatient  cab-horse  intercepted  me.     I  sprang  back 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    VISITOR  i7 

startled,  and  felt  my  shoulders  come  in  contact  with 
something  just  behind. 

A  woman  on  top  of  the  omnibus  uttered  a  shrill 
squeal  of  alarm,  and  the  sound  of  her  voice,  the  ex- 
pression of  her  eyes,  which  for  a  bewildered  instant  I 
saw  were  fixed  on  me,  robbed  me  of  my  presence  of 
mind. 

I  thought  that  I  was  going  to  be  run  over.  In  imag- 
ination I  felt  myself  knocked  down,  wheels  crunching 
over  my  spine.  The  whole  world  seemed  made  of 
horses — rearing  horses,  horses  with  tossing  heads  and 
trampling  hoofs.     The  street  was  a  sea  of  horses. 

They  were  everywhere — in  front,  behind,  coming 
from  both  sides;  go  where  I  would,  I  could  not  es- 
cape. I  shut  my  eyes  and  threw  up  my  hands,  con- 
scious in  an  odd,  bewildered  way,  even  at  that  instant, 
that  I  had  dropped  my  umbrella,  and  should  never  be 
able  to  buy  another,  if  I  lived  to  want  it. 

People  were  shouting  this  and  that  at  me;  I  only 
heard  their  voices,  not  their  words,  and  they  all 
sounded  angry,  unsympathetic,  as  if  they  were  an- 
noyed that  I  had  got  in  their  way,  not  that  they 
cared  what  became  of  me. 

It  could  not  have  lasted  sixty  seconds,  though  I 
had  thought  of  so  many  things  (even  feeling  a  pang 
of  regret  that  this  had  not  happened  after  instead  of 
before  my  glorious  visit  to  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton, 
now  to  be  lost  forever  under  the  horses'  hoofs), 
when  I  was  caught  up  bodily  and  planted  in  safety 
on  the  pavement.  It  was  a  strong  arm  that  held 
me,  and  until  a  mist  cleared  away  from  my  eyes  I 


i8  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

thought  my  stammered  thanks  were  due  to  a  big 
policeman;  but  though  the  policeman  was  there,  hav- 
ing arrived  the  fraction  of  a  second  too  late,  it  was 
not  to  him  that  I  owed  my  deliverance. 

"  'Twas  that  gentleman  there,  not  me,"  he  ex- 
plained, with  a  gruffness  born  of  my  reckless  conduct, 
which  deserved  all  the  punishment  it  had  received. 
My  impression  was  that,  if  any  one  merited  a  scold- 
ing, it  was  the  omnibus  driver  for  not  looking,  or  the 
first  cabman,  who  had  come  so  near  to  using  me  for 
a  ninepin.  But  they  had  both  contrived  to  disap- 
pear, and  I  should  have  been  censured  by  the  guar- 
dian of  the  law,  had  not  "that  gentleman"  gallantly 
interfered. 

"Oh,  I  say,  bobby,  don't  be  an  idiot,"  he  succinctly 
remarked,  and,  having  disposed  of  the  policeman, 
turned  to  me.     "I  do  hope  you're  not  hurt." 

"No,  I  think  not,  thanks  to  you!"  I  faltered.  "It 
was  so  stupid  of  me.  But  you  were  very  good,  and 
— I'm  all  right  now.  Come,  Anne,  we  will  take  this 
next  omnibus." 

"Won't  you  let  me  call  you  a  cab?  You  look 
awfully  white  and  shaken,"  said  the  man. 

I  was  about  to  refuse,  but  Anne  seconded  his  sug- 
gestion. Yes,  we  would  have  a  cab.  And  in  another 
moment,  with  a  motion  of  the  stick  he  carried,  our 
new  friend  had  summoned  a  hansom. 

The  crowd,  which  had  paused  for  the  excitement 
of  seeing  me  killed,  had  passed  on,  defrauded.  All 
was  quiet  again  in  Hamilton  Place,  and  I  thought  that 
there  were  none  remaining  who  cared  to  stare,  as  my 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    VISITOR  19 

knight  in  tall  hat  and  frock-coat  extended  his  service 
by  helping  me  into  the  vehicle. 

But,  after  all,  I  was  mistaken.  Just  as  he  stood, 
his  hat  lifted,  inquiring  with  interest  in  his  eyes 
whither  he  should  direct  the  cabman  to  drive,  a  vic- 
toria approached  us.  By  a  coincidence  which  seemed 
odd  to  me  (and  afterwards  was  to  seem  far  more  so), 
it  contained  the  wonderful  girl  in  pink  muslin.  She 
and  the  woman  by  her  side — her  mother,  I  was  certain 
— wTre  gazing  indifferently  into  space,  when  the  eyes 
of  the  former  fell  upon  my  champion. 

Her  features  quickened  suddenly  into  life;  her  gaze 
travelled  from  the  man  standing  by  the  cab  to  me, 
at  whom  she  continued  to  look  with  keen  curiosity, 
tempered  by  disapproval.  Then  she  whispered  a  word 
to  her  companion.  The  elder  woman  glanced  in  my 
direction,  and — a  strange  thing  happened. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   HAUNTING  VICTORIA 

What  there  could  have  been  in  my  appearance  to 
cause  her  emotion  I  could  not  guess;  but  the  well- 
preserved  face,  under  the  exquisite  bonnet,  seemed 
actually  to  shrivel.  She  stared,  with  widening  eyes, 
her  jaw  falling  in  that  unattractive,  yet  pathetic,  way 
seen  when  the  spirit  loses  control  of  the  body  in  sleep. 

I  observed  this  queer,  unrehearsed  dramatic  effect, 
in  vivid  surprise,  and  forgot  to  ansv/er  the  question 
that  had  been  asked.  Anne  replied  for  me;  and  I 
heard  her  giving  her  own  address  as  the  one  to  which 
we  desired  the  cabman  should  drive  us — heard  it  half 
unconsciously,  without  room  in  my  mind  for  more 
surprise;  though  afterwards,  when  it  appeared  that 
much  was  to  hang  upon  such  a  trifle,  I  remembered. 

The  driver  was  duly  informed,  and  we  left  my 
knight  standing  on  the  pavement,  looking  after  us 
with  a  parting  smile.  It  w^as  a  very  pleasant  smile; 
and  for  the  first  time  it  struck  me  that  the  man  was 
handsome.  I  had  been  too  dazed,  too  excited,  to  notice 
him  before,  save  to  gather  an  impression  that  he  was 
a  gentleman. 

"He's  rather  nice,  I  think,"  I  remarked  languidly 

20 


THE    HAUNTING   VICTORIA  21 

to  Anne,  sinking  back,  with  a  sense  of  rest  after  storm, 
upon  the  unwonted  luxury  of  cab  cushions. 

"Rather  nice?"  she  echoed  contemptuously.  "Where 
are  your  eyes?  He's  splendid.  He's  my  ideal  of  what 
a  man  ought  to  be.  I'll  bet  anything  he's  a  soldier. 
Oh,  the  difference  between  him  and  the  dreadful  men 
— the  Things — ^who  come  to  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith's!" 

Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  was  the  lady  with  whom  she 
lived;  but  never  before  had  I  known  Anne  to  be  so 
enthusiastic  about  a  mere  man. 

"I  suppose  my  eyes  were  otherwise  engaged,"  I  ex- 
cused myself.  "There  was  such  a  curious  thing,  just 
as  we  were  bidding  him  good-bye  (I  hope  I  remem- 
bered to  thank  him  properly  again!)  :  a  woman  in  a 
victoria — we'd  seen  her  in  the  Park,  but  she  didn't 
see  us — stared  at  me,  and  behaved  in  the  most  ex- 
traordinary manner.  One  would  have  fancied  I  was 
a  ghost.  She  looked  awful ;  I  can't  think  of  any  other 
word." 

"She  probably  had  a  stitch  in  her  side,  or  a  twinge 
of  neuralgia,"  said  Anne  prosaically.  "You  wanted 
things  to  happen  to-day,  and  they  have  happened. 
They've  gone  to  your  head  a  little,  my  dear.  You 
mustn't  expect  to  find  a  new  excitement  wherever  you 
turn  your  eyes,  on  the  principle  of  'It  never  rains  but 
it  pours.'  " 

"She  did  look  at  me  strangely — very  strangely,"  I 
persisted. 

"Well,  you're  not  exactly  plain." 

"There  she  is  again!"  I  exclaimed  eagerly.  "I  do 
believe  she's  following  us." 


22  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

"Nonsense!"  retorted  Anne.  "There  are  dozens  of 
victorias  coming  this  way.    Why  not  hers?" 

There  was  common-sense  in  Anne's  words,  but 
somehow  I  could  not  be  convinced.  The  victoria  was 
abreast  of  our  hansom ;  though  its  elder  occupant  wore 
a  surface  air  of  composure,  she  was  alert,  w^atchful, 
and  her  cold  eyes  lighted  as  they  met  mine. 

I  said  no  more  to  Anne,  for  I  could  not  prove  my 
assertion;  and  I  knew  that  she  fancied  my  experiences 
of  the  afternoon  had  sown  the  seeds  of  conceit  in  my 
heart. 

She  was  inclined  to  talk  of  the  man  from  whom  we 
had  just  parted,  and  I  encouraged  the  tendency,  since 
it  took  her  mind  from  my  affairs.  At  the  place  where 
we  should  have  changed  into  different  omnibuses,  I 
insisted  on  getting  out,  as  Anne  was  to  pay  for  the 
cab. 

We  bade  each  other  good-bye,  and  I  hailed  my  omni- 
bus. As  I  did  so,  I  threw  a  furtive  glance  behind. 
The  victoria  w^as  still  in  sight. 

For  a  moment  I  hesitated,  and  then  ascended  to  the 
top  of  the  omnibus.  From  a  coign  of  vantage  on  the 
back  seat  I  could  from  time  to  time  observe  the  prog- 
ress of  events.  If  it  were  really  by  chance  that  the 
victoria  with  the  two  ladies  was  coming  in  this  direc- 
tion, it  would  soon  overtake  and  leave  the  humble 
omnibus  far  behind.  If  not — and  I  were  right  instead 
of  Anne — I  might  prove  my  wild  theory  after  all. 

I  racked  my  brain  for  some  motive  to  account  for 
the  elder  woman's  interest  in  me,  taking  for  granted 
that  it  actually  existed.     The  daughter  had  certainly 


THE    HAUNTING   VICTORIA  23 

observed  with  some  eagerness  the  young  man  who  had 
been  speaking  with  us:  she  had  whispered  to  her 
mother,  who  had  at  once  exhibited  uncontrollable  feel- 
ing. 

Could  it  be,  I  wondered,  that  my  knight  was  this 
pretty  girl's  husband?  that  she  was  jealous,  and,  sus- 
pecting an  acquaintance  between  him  and  me,  had  in- 
duced her  mother  (the  typical,  suspicious  mother-in-law 
of  the  flirtatious,  farce-comedy  husband)  to  track  me 
to  my  lair? 

He  had  been  as  far  as  possible  from  resembling  this 
farce-comedy,  gay  dog  of  a  young  man;  on  the  con- 
trary, he  had  been,  as  Anne  said,  soldierly,  brown, 
serious,  with  gray  eyes  that  looked  as  if  they  might 
be  very  much  in  earnest.  But  I  could  think  of  no 
other  solution  to  the  puzzle,  and  in  accepting  it  I 
lost  the  thrill  of  mystery  in  the  chase.  A  chase,  how- 
ever, it  undoubtedly  was.  I  was  not  too  far  aw^ay, 
perched  up  in  my  high  seat,  to  observe,  when  I  ven- 
tured to  glance  behind  me,  the  expression  on  the  faces 
of  coachman  and  groom. 

It  was  contemptious  resignation;  every  weary  feature 
said  that  never  before  had  they  been  expected  to  dance 
attendance  on  a  vulgar  omnibus.  I  thought  they 
might  even  go  so  far  as  to  give  a  month's  notice  when 
they  reached  home. 

Suddenly  something  impish  entered  into  my  breast, 
and  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  would  be  amusing  to 
try  an  experiment.  I  ran  down  the  winding  staircase 
of  the  omnibus,  and,  undismayed  by  my  late  mishap, 
jumped  off  before  it  stopped. 


24  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

Another  was  coming,  and  was  just  in  tht  act  t)i 
turning  a  corner  which  would  take  it  in  quite  a 
different  direction.  I  was  in  time  to  board  it.  I 
w^ondered  if  ''they"  had  observed  this  manceuvre,  and 
whether  they  would  presently  be  seen  pursuing.  Yes, 
there  was  the  victoria!  The  girl  and  her  mother  were 
talking  together  with  animation,  in  strong  contrast  to 
the  languor  of  their  mien  when  first  we  had  met, 
before  they  had  been  waked  to  this  odd  interest,  which 
I  was  not  yet  sure  that  I  understood. 

I  had  not  lingered  to  ask  the  destination  of  this 
second  conveyance,  but,  when  the  conductor  appeared 
to  demand  my  fare,  I  discovered  that  it  was  taking 
me  away  from,  rather  than  towards,  Peckham.  I  should 
be  late,  and  Mrs.  East  would  be  angry.  Nevertheless, 
I  would  play  the  game  out  now. 

My  money  was  running  low,  and  I  had  only  a 
few  pence  left,  or,  at  the  end  of  the  route,  I  might 
have  been  tempted  further  to  prolong  th^  hunt.  As 
it  was,  there  remained  nothing  to  do  but  to  repair 
to  Peckham,  after  stepping  into  a  shop,  expending  a 
halfpenny  for  a  paper,  and  remaining  inside  y^s  long  as 
I  could,  to  account  for  my  visit  to  this  part  of  the  town. 
Somehow,  I  was  unwilling  for  the  pursuers  to  know 
that  I  had  been  deliberately  misleading  them;  though 
why  it  mattered  I  could  scarcely  have  explained  to 
myself. 

At  the  corner  of  Chesley  Street,  where  I  lived,  I 
beheld  the  inevitable  victoria  driving  slowly  past.  I 
walked  through  my  gate,  up  the  steps  to  the  door,  but, 
changing  my  mind,  ran  down  again  and  gazed  towards 


THE    HAUNTING    VICTORIA  ^5 

the  end  of  the  street.  There  the  carriage  had  stopped, 
before  a  bakery  and  postoffice.  At  the  moment  of  my 
appearance  the  groom  was  coming  out  of  the  latter 
with  a  telegraph  form  in  his  hand.  His  mistress  took 
it,  and  seemed  to  write. 

I  would  have  lingered  at  the  open  gate  to  see  what 
might  be  next  in  the  programme,  but  at  this  instant 
I  was  hailed  by  a  familiar  voice.  It  was  that  of  Jimmy 
East,  my  one  friend  at  Happiholme  Villa. 

"Oh,  I  say,  ain't  you  goin'  to  catch  it!"  he  ejacu- 
lated, appearing  at  the  front-door.  "Ma's  just  sav- 
age because  you're  late.  What  are  you  dong  out  there, 
anyhow — afraid  to  come  in?" 

"No,"  I  replied  sedately,  ascending  the  steps  with 
such  dignity  as  I  could  command. 

But  my  heart  was  beating  somewhat  faster  than 
its  wont.  It  was  all  well  enough  to  tell  myself,  at 
a  safe  distance  from  Mrs.  East,  that  I  could  now, 
for  the  first  time,  afford  to  brave  her  displeasure.  But 
the  habit  of  years  had  gripped  me  again,  with  my 
return  to  the  old  environment.  I  would  not  for  a 
great  deal  that  Jimmy  should  guess  it;  but  in  truth 
my  soul  melted  within  me  as  I  crossed  the  threshold. 

I  had  a  curious  feeling  that  I  had  come  back  from 
another  world;  or  perhaps  I  experienced  the  sensa- 
tions of  an  opium-eater,  awaking  to  dull,  headachy 
realities  after  a  dazzling  panorama  of  dreamland.  The 
smell  of  the  stuffy  little  passage  depressed  me  more  than 
ever  before — that  indescribable  reminiscence  of  dinners 
past,  present,  and  to  come.  How  narrow  it  was!  how 
hideous  the  paper  on  the  wall,  representing  marble! 


26  MY   LADY    CINDERELLA 

how  grim  the  linoleum  on  the  floor,  which  masqueraded 
unsuccessfully  as  mosaic ! 

"She's  upstairs  in  our  room,  puttin'  baby  to  bed," 
volunteered  Jimmy,  in  an  awestruck  tone.  No  need 
for  more  particular  classification.  There  was  only  one 
omnipresent,  reigning  She  at  Happiholme!  "She  said 
you  were  to  go  right  up  to  her  the  instant  minute 
you  came  in,  Connie.  I  was  put  to  wait  at  the  draw- 
rin'-room  window  to  watch  for  you." 

"Very  well,  I'm  going,"  I  responded,  and  set  my 
foot  upon  the  stairs. 

There  was  a  bad  half-hour  in  store  for  me,  I  was 
aware,  and  I  could  have  found  it  in  my  heart  to  wish 
that  Mr.  East  were  at  home. 

Mr.  East  was  only  my  cousin  Sarah's  husband,  in 
Peckham;  but  in  wider  spheres  he  was  a  commercial 
traveller.  When  he  abode  at  Happiholme  I  desired 
his  absence,  for  his  carpet  slippers  and  his  dressing- 
gown  got  upon  my  nerves.  Besides,  he  had  a  dis- 
agreeable habit  of  patting  me  on  the  shoulder  and 
remarking  on  the  colour  of  my  hair  or  my  eyes  when  his 
wife  was  not  in  the  room. 

But,  at  least,  he  did  his  cowardly  best  to  stand 
between  me  and  Cousin  Sarah's  wrath;  and  things 
undoubtedly  went  more  smoothly  during  his  vists  than 
when  he  was  away  inducing  provincial  firms  to  order  a 
certain  brand  of  soap. 

If  he  were  here  to-night — ^but  he  wasn't;  and  so 
there  was  no  use  in  wishing. 

The  room  which  Jimmy  East,  Emmy  East,  Baby 
East,  and   I   shared  as  a  bedchamber  was  up  under 


THE    HAUNTING    VICTORIA  27 

the  eaves  of  the  villa,  with  a  ceiling  that  slanted  in 
unexpected  places,  and  attempted  to  knock  one's  brains 
out  if  one  arose  in  the  darkness  to  soothe  the  baby's 
cries. 

Adjoining  was  the  abode  of  the  one  servant,  whose 
many  tasks  it  was  part  of  my  daily  duty  to  lighten.  I 
went  upstairs  heavily,  past  the  floor  where  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  East's  domain  and  the  "spare  bedroom"  did 
their  best  to  grace  a  self-respecting  Peckham  villa. 
Before  the  top  of  the  second  flight,  the  voice  of  Cousin 
Sarah  rang  out  through  the  closed  door: 

"Nasty,  ungrateful  hussy!  She'll  know  it  when 
she  gets  an  afternoon  out  again !" 

This  was  a  challenge,  though  she  was  only  har- 
anguing Emmy  and  the  baby;  and  it  ought  to  have 
spurred  my  failing  courage.  But  there  was  some- 
thing spiritually  relaxing  to  me  in  the  air  at  Happi- 
holme.  It  was  a  white-faced  coward  who  reluctantly 
opened  the  door  and  prepared  to  "face  the  music," 

"I'm  sorry,  Mrs.  East  (she  did  not  approve  of  being 
addressed  more  familiarly),  that  I'm  late,"  I  said;  "I 
didn't  think  it  would  be  Mousie's  bedtime  yet." 

She  had  been  sitting  by  the  wash-hand  stand  with 
her  back  to  me,  but  she  flounced  her  chair  round,  and 
turned  a  flushed,  virago  face  upon  me. 

"Oh,  you've  deigned  to  come  back,  have  you?  I 
wonder  you  didn't  stop  away  a  little  longer,  dine  at 
the  Savoy,  and  go  to  a  box  at  the  Opera.  This  is  what 
I  get  for  being  good-natured,  and  letting  you  go 
trapesing  about  town,  while  I  stay  at  home  and  look 
after  your  business." 


28  MY    LADY   CINDERELLA 

Of  course,  her  children  were  my  business;  at  all 
events,  I  should  hardly  have  breath  enough  to  dispute 
the  assertion  against  her.  I  therefore  quietly  took  off 
my  hat  and  gloves,  and  advanced  to  retrieve  the  baby, 
who  had  now  begun  to  5ell  under  his  mother's  fierce 
jerklngs  and  pulllngs.  But  Mrs.  East  snatched  him 
back  against  her  ample  breast. 

"Now  that  IVe  done  all  the  work,  you'd  step  in 
and  get  the  credit,  would  you?"  she  snapped.  "Let 
me  alone.  I'll  finish  what  I've  begun.  But  this  day's 
been  a  lesson  to  me.  I'm  tired  of  giving  away  my 
food  and  my  house-room  for  nothing.  You  don't  get 
out  again,  to  defy  me,  in  a  hurry,  my  lady." 

Her  tone,  her  words,  were  unbearably  insulting. 
Coward  that  I  was,  and  had  too  often  been  in  the  pres- 
ence of  this  big  grenadier  of  a  w^oman,  w^ho  looked  too 
large  for  her  own  house,  my  blood  leaped  now ;  and  my 
ears  tingled  as  if  she  had  boxed  them. 

An  instant  ago  I  had  not  meant  to  speak  of  what  had 
happened  to-day,  what  was  to  follow  a  few  days  later, 
until  she  should  be  In  a  more  promising  temper.  But 
in  my  anger  I  lost  my  shrinking  dread  of  her,  and  w^as 
bitten  vdth  the  temptation  to  fling  In  her  fierce  face 
the  knowledge  that  somewhere  I  was  wanted  and  ap- 
preciated, if  not  here. 


CHAPTER   IV 

I   FLING  DOWN   THE   GAUNTLET  TO   FATE 

"I  HAVE  never  wished  nor  attempted  to  defy  j^ou, 
Mrs.  East,"  I  said,  trying  to  speak  calmly,  though  my 
voice  trembled.  "But  there  is  a  limit  even  to  my  endur- 
ance. I  am  not  a  slave;  I  am  of  your  own  flesh  and 
blood,  and  by  hard  work  from  early  morning  till  late 
at  night  I  have  earned  over  and  over  again  the  food, 
the  shelter,  you  so  grudgingly  allow  me.    Now " 

"Upon  my  word!"  she  broke  in,  beating  m.e  down 
with  her  loud  vituperation.  "You'd  answer  me  back, 
would  you?  'My  flesh  and  blood,'  you  call  yourself? 
A  third  cousin — that's  all  you  are — is  no  cousin  at  all. 
For  years  I've  kept  you  out  of  charity,  ever  since  your 
mother — a  poor,  useless  invalid,  no  good  to  herself  or 
anybody  else,  for  all  her  fine  boastings — died  in  a  rail- 
way carriage  and  left  you  on  the  world.  This  is  the 
reward  I  get  for  it;  but  that's  life — that's  life,  I  sup- 
pose. Of  course  you've  been  made  to  work;  you 
couldn't  expect  to  sit  idle  all  day  while  I  slaved  for 
you.  But  you've  not  done  half  what  a  hired  nursemaid 
would  have  done.  Henry  East's  silly  kindness  has 
spoiled  you.  I  could  get  in  a  girl  and  pay  her  four 
shillings  a  week,  not  a  quarter  as  much  as  your  clothes 
and  your  pocket-money  have  cost  me — ^yes,  I  could  get 
29 


30  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

her  in  to-morrow,  and  she'd  do  better  without  any 
practice  than  you  do  after  five  years." 

Fortunately,  or  unfortunately,  I  was  born  with  a 
sense  of  humour,  so  that,  little  merriment  as  was  in 
my  heart,  I  was  seized  with  a  sudden  hysterical  gust 
of  laughter  at  Mrs.  East's  boast  of  generously  given 
''pocket-money."  She  had  been  known  to  deal  me  out 
a  postage-stamp  at  a  time  for  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Bryden 
or  Anne ;  and  she  had  sat  sulkily  by  talking  of  her  own 
financial  sacrifices  for  her  family's  sake,  while  her 
husband  tossed  a  shilling  into  my  plate  at  breakfast. 
But  she  had  no  sense  of  humour,  and,  not  fathoming 
the  cause  of  my  laughter,  it  infuriated  her  the  more. 
She  glared  and  swallowed  hard,  but  I  did  not  yet 
allow  her  to  begin  again. 

"Wait,"  I  exclaimed;  "I  have  something  to  say 
now,  Mrs.  East.  As  it  will  be  so  easy  for  you  to  fill 
my  place,  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  to  relieve  you  from  the  burden  of  my 
presence  at  the  end  of  the  week.  It  is  only  fair  to 
give  you  so  much  notice,  I  think,  and  for  the  children's 
sake " 

"How  dare  you!"  she  flung  at  me.  "You  go  away! 
j^ou  leave  a  good  home  like  this!  Catch  you  doing  it. 
You  know  too  well  which  side  your  bread's  buttered, 
though  I've  the  best  mind  in  the  world  to  take  you 
at  your  word " 

"I  want  nothing  else,"  I  asseverated.  "Indeed,  I 
have  wished  for  long  to  go.  To-day  an  opportunity 
has  been  afforded  me.  I  have  had  a — a  most  advan- 
tageous offer." 


I    FLING    DOWN    THE    GAUNTLET   31 

She  began  to  look  at  me  sharply,  the  "boiled  goose- 
berry" eyes,  which  had  such  an  unpleasant,  catty  fas- 
cination for  me,  snapping  with  anger. 

"Ah!"  she  sneered,  'perhaps  the  Queen  has  begged 
you  to  come  and  be  a  maid  of  honour?" 

"Really,  you  are  not  so  far  wrong,"  I  retorted.  "A 
lady — a  woman  of  title — has  invited  me  to  pay  her  a 
visit — a  long  visit.  After  that  she  has  intimated  that 
she  will  help  me  find  work." 

"Of  all — the — liars — you  are  the  worst  and  the 
most  barefaced,  Consuelo  Brand.  'Brand'  indeed!  I 
always  did  say  it  meant  the  brand  of  Satan." 

The  blood  rushed  so  hotly  to  my  face  that  the  tears 
were  forced,  stinging,  to  my  eyes. 

"Leave  my  room,  woman!"  I  exclaimed,  pointing 
to  the  door;  "for  while  I  am  here  in  this  house  it  is 
and  shall  be  mine." 

I  had  hardly  known  what  I  was  saying,  but  when* 
the  full  force  of  my  temerity  swept  over  me,  I  was 
not  even  then  dismayed.     An  end  was  coming  now^; 
the  earth  quaked  in  the  old  world  that  I  had  know^n. 

She  slid  the  frightened,  whimpering  two-year-old 
from  her  knees,  and  springing  to  her  feet,  towered 
above  me. 

"You  brat!  you  charity  child!  you  nameless  waif!" 
she  choked,  "you  tell  rrve  to  leave  this  room !  I  tell  you 
to  leave  my  house,  not  in  a  week,  not  to-morrow,  but 
now,  this  minute.  Out  you  go!" 

I  faced  her,  quivering. 

"Do  you  mean  it?" 

"As  much  as  I  mean  that  I'm  sick  to  death  of  you. 


32  MY   LADY   CINDERELLA 

Not  a  stick  of  luggage  do  you  wait  for.  It  can  be 
sent  after  you  to  your  lady  of  title.  Bah!  you  make 
me  111.  Go!" 

I  shut  my  lips  together  without  a  w^ord.  I  do  not 
think  that  I  could  have  spoken  then  If  I  would.  A 
shower  of  glittering  sparks  seemed  to  be  falling  before 
my  eyes;  but,  fumbling,  I  found  my  hat  and  put  It  on. 
My  gloves,  too,  which  lay  beside  It  on  the  bed,  I  me- 
chanically picked  up,  crushing  them  in  my  hand. 
Then,  without  turning  to  look  back,  I  left  the  room. 

Outside  In  the  passage  the  whirlwind  of  my  quick, 
blind  flight  knocked  against  something,  and  tumbled  it 
over.  Startled,  I  collected  my  faculties  sufficiently  to 
see  Jimmy,  who  had  thus  been  punished  for  listening 
at  the  keyhole,  and  to  help  him  to  his  feet. 

He  sneaked  downstairs  at  my  side,  his  small  six- 
year-old  body  striving  to  hide  itself  In  my  skirt  as  we 
went.  Halfway  down,  a  strident  voice  from  above 
hurled  some  Inarticulate  abuse  after  me,  but  I  neither 
paused  nor  looked  up,  and  Jimmy  only  cuddled  the 
closer. 

At  the  front-door  the  little  boy  clung  to  me  with 
desperate,  grimy  hands. 

''Don't  go — don't  go,  Connie!"  he  implored. 
"Maybe  she'll  be  sorry  to-morrow.  Anyhow,  I  love 
you,  and  I'll  be  better  to  you  after  this  If  you'll 
stay,  so'll  pa.  I'll  tell  him  on  her,  see  If  I  don't. 
Connie,  I  can't  get  along  without  you — ^honest  true  I 


CHAPTER  V 

I  MAKE  A  MISTAKE 

Gently,  but  firmly,  I  loosened  Jimmy's  little  hands. 

"Vm  sorry  to  leave  you,  dear,"  I  said.  "But  after 
what's  happened  to-night  I  can't  stay  any  longer.  I 
won't  forget  you.  And  by-and-by  I'll  write  you  a 
letter  to  your  own  name.  If  I  have  any  money,  I'll 
send  you  a  present,  too." 

Jimmy's  tea  s  ceased  to  fall. 

"Will  you,  true's  you  live?" 

"Yes.  And  perhaps  I  shall  come  back  to  see  you  one 
day  in  a  carriage.  Who  knows?" 

I  bent  and  kissed  him,  despite  the  smudges  with 
which  his  small  face  was  ever  adorned,  save  at  early 
morning.  Then,  before  he  could  grasp  me  again,  I 
had  put  him  away,  and  closed  the  door  between  us. 
Running  down  the  steps,  and  out  at  the  gate,  I  hur- 
ried away  in  the  gathering  twilight,  hardly  realizing 
that  the  dust  of  Happiholme  Villa  had  indeed  been 
shaken  from  my  feet. 

For  a  long  time  I  flew  on,  aimless,  panting,  paying 
no  heed  to  the  way  I  went.  But  at  last  sheer  fatigue 
caused  my  speed  to  slacken,  and  with  a  shock  of  sur- 
prise it  dawned  upon  me  that  I  did  not  know  where 
to  go. 

33 


34  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

I  had  told  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton  that  I  must  give 
Mrs.  East  a  few  days'  notice  before  leaving  her  chil- 
dren, after  a  residence  of  five  years  in  her  house.  Lady 
Sophie  would  doubtless  have  arranged  matters  in  ac- 
cordance with  that  expressed  intention  of  mine,  so 
that  now  it  might  be  inconvenient  for  her  if  I  were 
to  make  my  appearance  earlier,  announcing  that  I  had 
come  to  stay. 

At  all  events,  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  go  to 
Park  Lane  to-night,  as  she  had  mentioned  that  she 
was  dining  out,  with  a  theatre  party  afterwards. 
Clearly  it  would  not  do  to  arrive  in  her  absence,  with 
only  the  servants  at  home,  nor  could  I  hang  about  the 
door,  like  a  tramp,  until  twelve  o'clock  or  so,  when 
she  might  be  expected  to  return. 

I  began  to  feel  a  little  frightened,  though  I  by  no 
means  regretted  my  precipitancy  in  leaving  that  most 
inappropriately-named  domicile,  Happiholme.  In  my 
shabby  purse,  which  I  had  possessed  since  before  my 
dear  mother's  tragic  death,  coyly  nestled  one  penny, 
one  halfpenny,  and  an  impracticable  farthing.  As  I 
walked  on  more  slowly  I  examined  and  thought  over 
these  resources. 

With  the  malicious  contrariness  of  human  nature, 
though  I  could  not  have  eaten  the  most  delicate  mor- 
sel a  few  moments  ago  had  it  been  temptingly  served  to 
me  in  Mrs.  East's  house,  I  now  began  poignantly  to 
feel  that  I  was  hungry. 

A  clock  over  a  cheap  jew^eller's  shop  told  me  that  it 
was  half-past  eight.  I  had  lunched  hastily  at  twelve  on 
a  piece  of  bread  and  cheese  before  going  out  to  join 


I    MAKE   A    MISTAKE  35 

Anne,  and  I  had  been  far  too  much  excited  at  Lady 
Sophie  de  Gretton's  to  do  more  than  crumble  a  bit  of 
Icing  on  my  tiny  cake  as  I  tasted  the  tea  In  one  of  her 
Dresden  cups. 

Oh,  how  faint  I  was  beginning  to  be!  How  my 
head  throbbed,  and  how  desolate  I  was!  A  brilliant 
destiny  might  be  fluttering  before  me,  like  a  Will-o'- 
the-wisp,  but  the  present  brought  tears  of  loneliness  to 
my  eyes.  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  to  do,  where  I 
might  hope  to  spend  the  night. 

If  Mrs.  Bryden  had  still  kept  the  boarding-house  In 
Bloomsbury,  where  my  mother  and  I  had  lived  for  sev- 
eral years,  I  might  now  have  gone  there.  Mrs.  Bryden 
would  gladly  have  accommodated  me  for  a  night  or 
two,  and  let  me  pay  when  I  could.  But  she  had  moved 
to  Surbiton,  and  I  had  no  money  for  my  railway  fare, 
so  that  It  was  hopeless  to  think  of  finding  shelter  with 
her. 

Some  people  spent  their  nights  In  wandering  up  and 
down,  or  dropping  Into  a  troubled  doze  upon  the  seats 
on  the  Embankment,  I  knew;  but  I  had  not  the  cour- 
age to  face  such  an  experience,  and  finally,  with  ex- 
treme reluctance,  I  permitted  the  thought  of  Mrs. 
Leatherby-Smlth  to  grow  within  my  mind.  I  had 
never  seen  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith,  though  I  seemed  to 
know  her  only  too  well  from  Anne's  description  of  her 
employer,  and  I  had  no  reason  to  believe,  from  the 
knowledge  which  I  possessed,  that  she  would  give  her 
companion-secretary's  Insignificant  friend  a  warm  wel- 
come. 

Still,  much  as  I  disliked  exacting  a  grudging  favour, 


36  MY   LADY   CINDERELLA 

I  thought  It  would  be  preferable  to  entreat  Mrs.  Leath- 

erby-Smlth's  hospitality  for  one  night  rather  than  walk 
the  streets,  or  apply  to  a  Refuge  for  Homeless  Young 
Women — all  spelled  with  capital  letters. 

Whatever  I  did,  It  was  clear  that  I  could  not  pre- 
sent myself  at  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton's  till  next  day 
at  earliest,  and  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  appeared  to  be 
my  only  other  hope.  I  might  sleep  with  Anne,  I 
reflected,  and,  after  all,  I  need  not  make  trouble  for 
any  one  else  In  the  house. 

Having  once  arrived  at  a  decision,  I  felt  better. 
But  the  next  thing  was  to  reach  Addison  Road,  where 
Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  lived.  A  penny  would  not  take 
me  half  the  distance  in  an  omnibus,  but  I  must  ride 
as  far  as  I  could,  and  accomplish  the  rest  of  the  journey 
on  foot.  My  remaining  halfpenny  I  expended  at  a 
baker's  upon  a  cake  so  stodgy  as  to  be  particularly 
filling  at  the  price,  and  ate  it,  furtive  and  abject,  at 
a  street  corner  while  waiting  for  the  'bus  to  come 
in  sight. 

As  I  did  so,  with  such  poor  pretence  of  jauntiness  as 
I  could  maintain,  I  thought  of  Lady  Sophie  de  Gret- 
ton,  and  of  the  two  dainty  occupants  of  the  mysterious 
victoria,  w^ondering  grimly  what  would  be  their  im- 
pression if  they  could  see  me  now. 

Somewhat  revived,  I  was  ready  to  make  the  neces' 
sary  exertion,  when  the  om.nibus  had  brought  me  as 
far  as  It  would  for  a  penny,  and  I  had  to  descend  and 
walk. 

It  was  a  very  long  walk,  which  I  made  still  longer 
by  losing  my  way  more  than  once.   Weary,  faint,  and 


I    MAKE    A    MISTAKE  37 

miserably  doubtful  of  my  reception,  I  was  almost  too 
far  gone,  when  at  last  I  reached  Addison  Road,  to 
rejoice  that  I  was  so  near  my  journey's  end. 

Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith,  who  had  occupied  a  suite  in 
a  fashionable  hotel,  when  first  she  came  to  London 
for  the  season  (which  meant  so  much  to  her  nouveau 
riche  ambition),  had  not  been  long  in  Addison  Road; 
but  I  had  written  to  Anne  since  her  arrival,  and  I 
was  sure  of  the  address. 

"Holland  Park  House"  was  the  name  which  I  had 
scrawled  on  one  or  two  envelopes  during  the  past  four 
weeks;  and  now,  seeing  the  two  words,  ''Holland 
Park,"  glittering  in  gold  letters  on  a  tall  iron  gate- 
way, I  did  not  wait  to  let  my  eyes  travel  further  along 
the  line,  but  ventured  inside. 

A  short  drive  led  up  to  a  large  building  of  brick  and 
stone,  dignified  with  a  deep  porch,  the  roof  of  which 
was  supported  by  massive  pillars.  I  knew  that  Mrs. 
Leatherby-Smith  was  lavish  of  the  money  left  her  by 
a  deceased  Birmingham  husband,  and  that  she  had 
chosen  a  place  in  Addison  Road  expressly  that  she 
might  be  able  to  give  garden  parties;  but  I  had  hardly 
expected  to  see  such  an  imposing  mansion  as  this.  It 
looked  big  enough  for  two  or  three  Mrs.  Leatherby- 
Smiths  to  give  parties  all  at  the  same  time. 

Big  double  doors  stood  hospitably  open.  Within, 
other  doors,  half  composed  of  jewelled  glass,  were 
tightly  closed.  A  light  shone  through,  and  here  and 
there  in  the  house  other  lights  filtered  through  drawn 
curtains;  but  many  windows  were  dark.  Probably,  I 
thought,   Mrs.   Leatherby-Smith  was  out;  but  Anne 


38  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

would  be  at  home,  and  not  yet  in  bed,  as  it  was  not 
much  after  ten  o'clock. 

I  touched  an  electric  bell,  and  an  elderly  man,  in 
a  plain,  businesslike  livery,  answered  my  ring. 

"Is — is  Miss  Bryden  at  home?"  I  hesitated. 

The  man  looked  puzzled. 

"Miss  Bryden?  I  don't  know  the  name,"  was  his 
reply. 

"She  is  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith's  companion." 

The  cloud  of  his  bewilderment  did  not  lift. 

"Is  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  visiting  here?"  he  in- 
quired, with  an  air  of  painful  conscientiousness.  "We 
have  no  tenant  by  that  name,  miss." 

"But  this  is  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith's  house,  isn't  it?'* 
I  questioned  hastily.  "Surely  Holland  Park 
House " 

"Ah,  you've  made  a  mistake,  then.  This  is  Hol- 
land Park  Mansions.  Holland  Park  House  is  next 
door  but  one,  miss.     I'll  show  you,  if  you  like." 

"Thank  you,"  I  had  begun,  and  was  already  moving 
farther  from  the  door,  when  from  within  a  man  came 
out  in  so  great  a  hurry  that  the  janitor  was  obliged 
to  forget  his  dignity  and  give  a  funny  little  hop  out 
of  the  way. 

I,  too,  stepped  aside,  expecting  to  see  the  man  con- 
tinue his  headlong  career  down  the  drive  to  the  gate; 
but  instead  he  stopped  abruptly  on  the  threshold  and 
gazed  at  me. 

He  was  a  man  of  middle  age,  well  dressed  and  sub- 
stantial-looking, with  old-fashioned  side  whiskers,  gray 
hair,  and  round,   gold-bowed,  smoked  spectacles  that 


I    MAKE    A    MISTAKE  39 

lent  him  a  benevolent  air.  In  his  hand  was  a  telegraph 
form,  crushed  up  with  the  opened  envelope. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said ;  then  paused,  as  if 
undecided  how  to  follow  up  his  preface.  I  gleaned 
a  rapid  impression  that  he  fancied  we  had  met  before, 
and  though  his  face  was  strange  to  me,  oddly  enough 
I  vaguely  had  the  same  feeling  in  regard  to  him. 

The  pause  was  very  short;  he  had  scarcely  given 
himself  more  than  time  to  draw  breath,  although  it 
certainly  had  seemed  that,  for  the  fraction  of  a  second, 
he  had  sought  eagerly  for  an  idea,  an  inspiration. 

Then — "I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  again.  ''But 
didn't  I  hear  you  inquiring  for  Holland  Park  House? 
The  people  there  are  your  friends?" 

"I  don't  know  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith,"  I  confessed 
humbly.  ''But  her  companion.  Miss  Anne  Bryden,  is 
a  friend  of  mine." 

The  face  of  the  middle-aged  man  brightened  with  a 
smile.  I  racked  my  brain  to  think  where,  if  ever,  I 
had  seen  him  before;  but  the  recollection  would  not 
come. 

"Ah,  Miss  Anne  Bryden!  She  is  a  friend  of  mine 
also.  It  is  a  great  pity,  if  you  were  gong  to  Holland 
Park  House  to-night,  that  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  and 
Miss  Bryden  are  both  away.  They  are  not  expected 
to  return  until  to-morrow  morning.  I  am  Mr.  Wynn- 
stay.    You  may  have  heard  Miss  Bryden  speak  of  me." 

"No,"  I  replied,  my  heart  sinking  at  the  news  of 
Anne's  absence.  "I  don't  think  she  has  mentioned 
you.  But,  then,  I  haven't  seen  much  of  her  since  she 
and   Mrs.   Leatherby-Smith  came  to  live  in  Addison 


40  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

Road.  It  is  very  odd,  however,  that  Anne  said  nothing 
to  me  when  I  was  with  her  this  afternoon  about  going 
away  for  all  night." 

"I  dare  say  she  did  not  know  then,"  Mr.  Wynnstay 
explained,  regarding  my  changed  countenance  intently. 
"Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  is  a  woman  of  quick  decisions. 
They — er — left  quite  suddenly,  as  I  happen  to  know. 
I'm  sorry  my  little  friend  Miss  Bryden  forgot  to  men- 
tion my  existence,  for,  had  she  done  so,  you  would 
be  more  ready  to  let  me  help  you  in  any  way 
possible,  if  you  are  inconvenienced  by  her  unexpected 
absence.  I  trust,  however,  that — er — you  are  not 
inconvenienced?" 

If  I  had  been  quite  myself  I  might  successfully  have 
maintained  an  air  of  graceful  reserve;  but  I  was  weak 
with  fatigue  and  hunger,  which  had  developed  into  a 
wiry  headache,  with  little  hot  and  cold  flashes  of  gid- 
diness. My  eyes  were  so  full  of  tears  that  a  fall  of 
my  lashes  sent  two  plashing  over  my  cheeks,  and  after 
that  it  was  useless  to  pretend  that  I  was  indifferent. 

"I  don't  quite  know  what  to  do,"  I  choked,  "for  I 
thought  Anne  would  surely  have  been  at  home.  How^- 
ever,  it  doesn't  matter  at  all.  I  am  much  obliged  to 
you,  sir,  for  saving  me  the  trouble  of  going  on  to  Hol- 
land Park  House.     Good-night." 

"But,  my  dear  young  lady,  you  must  really  forgive 
me:  I  can't  let  you  go  away  like  that.  Pray  wait, 
and  let  us  have  a  moment's  conversation.  Denby" — 
to  the  janitor — "place  a  chair  for  the  lady.  She  is 
tired." 

These  last  sentences  w^re  delivered  with  authority, 


I    MAKE    A    MISTAKE  41 

and  i)beyed  with  alacrity.  Evidently  Mr.  Wynnstay 
was  /  respected  tenant  of  Holland  Park  Mansions. 

I  sat  down,  not  because  my  mind  desired  it,  but 
because  my  knees  insisted. 

*'You  were  very  anxious,  I  fear,  to  see  Miss  Bry- 
den?"  said  the  gentleman  with  side  whiskers. 

''I  meant  to  stop  to-night  with  her,"  I  admitted, 
*'as — I  happened  to  be  rather  far  from  home,  and  it 
Is  late.    But " 

"Of  course?  Quite  so.  And  now  you  are  some- 
w^hat  at  a  loss.  As  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith's 
and  Miss  Bryden's,  you  must  permit  me  to  advise  you." 

"Where  have  I  seen  you  before?"  I  demanded  ab- 
ruptly— or,  rather,  something  within  me,  over  which  I 
had  no  control,  seemed  to  ask  the  question. 

Mr.  Wynnstay's  face  stiffened. 

"If  we  had  met  before,  it  is  impossible  that  I  should 
have  forgotten  it,"  he  said  politely.  But,  despite  the 
politeness,  for  some  reason  which  I  could  not  under- 
stand, my  words  had  displeased  and  disconcerted  him. 


CHAPTER   VI 

WHAT    I    SAW   IN    THE    MIRROR 

I  FELT  that  I  must  be  growing  morbid,  looking  fof 
mysteries  and  hidden  meanings  everyuhere,  even  in  the 
most  unlikely  places,  as  I  had  appeared  continually 
to  do  during  the  past  few  eventful  hours.  Perhaps  I 
had  imagined  Mr.  Wynnstay's  displeasure;  at  any 
rate,  it  apparently  lasted  but  for  an  instant. 

"It  would  certainly  not  be  agreeable  for  you  to  go 
to  Holland  Park  House  in  both  ladies'  absence,  as  you 
are  not  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith,"  he 
went  on,  revealing  his  consideration  for  my  forlorn- 
ness,  "and  simply  announce  to  the  servants  that  you 
intended  to  stop  the  night.  Unless  they  already  know 
you  very  w^ell,  I  fear  they  w^ouid  hesitate  to  let  you  in." 

"I  shouldn't  dream  of  attempting  such  a  thing,"  I 
returned.  "You  have  been  good  to  take  an  interest; 
but  now  I  really  must  go,  and " 

"ly-ay  wait.  I  believe  I  see  a  way  out  of  the  diffi- 
culty," Mr.  Wynnstay  interpolated.  "If  you  will 
come  into  my  study,  which  is  close  by  on  this  floor, 
and  sit  for  a  few  minutes  while  I  give  you  a  letter 
to  the  housekeeper,  telling  her  (on  my  responsibility) 
to  take  you  up  to  Miss  Bryden's  room,  she  will  with- 

42 


WHAT    I    SAW    IN   THE    MIRROR     43 

out  doubt  do  so.  Then  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  need 
know  nothing  of  the  transaction  until  you  see  Miss 
Bryden  and  she  explains  matters  satisfactorily  to  her 
employer.     What  do  you  say  to  that  plan?" 

I  hardly  knew  what  to  say.  The  man  was  a  stran- 
ger to  me;  it  was  distasteful  to  accept  a  favour  from 
him;  the  whole  affair  was  distressing;  and  I  could 
scarcely  bring  myself  to  pass  a  night  under  Mrs.  Lea- 
therby-Smith's  roof  without  her  permission.  But  the 
alternative  was  appalling.  I  was  penniless ;  it  was  now 
nearer  eleven  than  ten ;  the  night  loomed  black  and  full 
of  horrors  to  my  sensitized  imagination. 

"I  think  I  must  accept  your  kindness,"  I  said.  "Per- 
haps— would  it  not  be  better  if  you  would  take  mc 
to  the  door  of  Holland  Park  House,  Instead  of  trou- 
bling to  write  a  letter?  I  fancy  you  were  going  out 
when  I " 

"It  will  be  better  to  write,"  he  reiterated;  and  going 
to  the  door  through  which  I  had  seen  him  come  out 
into  the  hall,  he  threw  it  open. 

There  was  darkness  within  at  first,  but  In  a  second 
or  two  Mr.  Wynnstay's  hand  had  found  the  electric 
button,  and  the  room  was  Illumined  by  a  clear  and 
brilliant  light. 

"We  shall  not  be  long,  Denby,"  announced  my  bene- 
factor, as  if  to  set  me  at  my  ease  with  the  janitor, 
who  had  been  decorously  drinking  In  our  conversation. 
"You  may  be  at  hand,  if  you  please,  to  show  the  lady 
out  when  she  is  ready  to  go." 

These  words  relieved  me  from  danger  of  being 
placed  In  a  false  position,  and  my  gratitude  towards 


44  MY   LADY    CINDERELLA 

Mr.  Wynnstay  increased.  He  was  certainly  remarkably 
thoughtful,  and  I  reproached  myself  for  a  dim  feeling 
of  physical  repulsion  against  him  which  had  sprung  up 
in  my  breast  with  the  first  glimpse  of  his  benevolent, 
middle-aged  countenance. 

"Perhaps  the  man  of  whom  he  reminds  me  was  con- 
nected with  some  disagreeable  experience  or  other 
which  I  can't  remember,  but  which  I'm  now  visiting 
on  this  innocent  and  kindly  old  person,"  I  said  to  m)^- 
self  as  I  walked,  still  with  a  certain  reluctance,  into 
Mr.  Wynnstay's  domain. 

It  was  a  handsomely-furnished  room,  though  almost 
any  other  appellation  than  "study"  would  have  been 
more  appropriate  to  a  place  where  books  were  so  few. 
However,  there  were  one  or  two  shelves  where  lux- 
uriously-bound volumes  turned  their  handsome  leather 
backs  to  the  audience ;  on  a  table  magazines  and  papers 
were  scattered ;  and  there  was  a  desk  with  a  silk-shaded 
lamp,  for  w^hich  Mr.  Wynnstay  switched  on  the  elec- 
tric light. 

He  did  not  entirely  close  the  door  leading  into  the 
hall,  so  that  I  still  felt  easily  able  to  establish  com- 
munication with  the  outer  world,  inhabited  by  Denby. 

"I  had  the  misfortune  a  few  weeks  ago  to  dislocate 
the  thumb  of  my  right  hand,"  my  host  remarked, 
when  he  had  laid  out  writing  materials.  "It  is  diffi- 
cult for  me,  even  now,  to  use  a  pen,  and  I  shall  be 
obliged  if  you  will  write  the  letter  I  mentioned,  w^hich 
I  will  sign  when  it  is  finished.  Mrs.  Leatherby- 
Smith's  housekeeper  w^ill  recognise  my  signature,  which 
she  has  ha«l  occasion  to  see  on  one  or  two  legal  docu- 


WHAT    I    SAW    IN    THE    MIRROR     45 

ments.  All  you  need  say  is  that  Miss — er — I  don't 
think,  now  I  come  to  reflect,  that  I  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  knowing  your  name." 

I  mentioned  it;  and  he  went  on  to  suggest  the  out- 
lines of  such  a  note  to  the  housekeeper  as  he  thought 
best  calculated  to  open  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith's  doors 
for  me.  Meanwhile,  I  had  sat  obediently  down  at  the 
desk,  and  taken  up  a  pen. 

It  appeared  to  me  that  if  he  had  accompanied  mc 
to  Holland  Park  House,  saying  a  few  words  of  intro- 
duction to  the  servant  at  the  door,  who  must  have 
been  familiar  with  his  face,  it  would  have  been  a  dis- 
tinct saving  of  time ;  but  he  had  chosen  otherwise,  and 
it  was  not  for  me  to  question  his  decision. 

As  I  wrote  the  letter,  which,  following  on  the  lines 
proposed  by  Mr.  Wynnstay,  had  to  be  somewhat  long 
and  rambling,  my  host  walked  up  and  down  the  room. 
I  could  hear  his  nervous  footfalls  on  the  polished  floor, 
whenever  he  strayed  off  the  big  Turkish  rug  in  the 
centre;  but  once,  for  a  long  moment,  the  sound  of  his 
steps  was  stilled. 

Silence,  save  for  the  scratching  of  the  quill  pen  in 
my  fingers  across  the  paper,  reigned  in  the  room.  I 
wrote  quickly  on,  and  had  nearly  reached  the  end  of 
what  I  had  to  say,  when  I  heard  a  faint,  clinking  noise, 
like  two  pieces  of  glass  brought  into  contact  with  each 
other. 

"Mr.  Wynnstay  is  surreptitiously  refreshing  himself 
with  a  glass  of  wine,  or  whisky,  behind  my  back,"  I 
thought;  *'or  perhaps  he  is  pouring  out  something  for 
me,  but  I  certainly  won't  have  it.  If  he  offered  me  a 


46  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

biscuit  instead,  in  my  present  state  of  collapse,  I  might 
not  be  able  to  resist,  but  wine  could  not  tempt  me." 

Writing  the  last  few  words,  I  became  suddenly  con- 
scious that  Mr.  Wynnstay  had  come  close  behind  my 
chair.  I  had  not  heard  his  advance ;  the  rug  had  dead- 
ened the  sound  of  his  footsteps,  but  somehow  I  felt  that 
he  was  there.  He  was  looking  at  the  letter  under  my 
hand,  maybe;  and  the  thought  that  his  gaze  w^as  fast- 
ened on  the  back  of  my  head  made  me  uncomfortable. 

I  did  not  turn  to  look  at  him,  but  I  raised  my  eyes 
from  the  paper,  and  as  I  did  so  they  focussed  upon  a 
quaint  convex  mirror  hanging  on  the  wall  directly  over 
the  desk. 

Reflected  on  its  oddly  transforming  surface,  I  could 
see  myself,  and,  bending  over  me,  Mr.  Wynnstay.  He 
was  looking,  not  at  me,  nor  at  the  letter,  as  I  had 
fancied,  but  at  something  which  he  held  in  his  hand; 
and  a  prickling  thrill  ran  through  my  nerves  at  the 
notable  difference  in  the  man — a  difference  for  which 
the  convex  mirror  was  not  wholly  responsible. 

He  was  no  longer  benevolent  of  aspect.  His  big 
mouth  hung  half  open,  showing  yellow,  irregular  teeth. 
The  round,  smoked  spectacles  were  pushed  far  up  on 
his  frowning  forehead,  and  the  eyes  looked  cruel.  With 
a  leap  of  the  heart,  I  knew,  in  one  terrible  instant, 
where  I  had  seen  this  man  before. 

The  room  faded,  and  I  saw  w^th  my  mind's  eyes 
another  picture  which  blotted  all  else  out.  A  little 
girl  was  in  a  railway  carriage  with  her  mother,  a  beau- 
tiful, wearj'-faced  woman  in  the  heavy  mourning  which 
she  had  worn  ever  since  the  child  could  remember. 


WHAT    I    SAW    IN    THE    MIRROR     47 

They  had  been  whispering  together  of  a  wonderful 
change  that  was  to  come  into  their  monotonous  life,  all 
through  a  letter  which  had  arrived  that  morning,  a 
change  the  mother  could  not  explain  then,  but  that  the 
little  girl  would  understand  by-and-by,  when  it  came, 
when  everything  was  different,  and  they  were  happier 
than  they  had  ever  been. 

The  two  spoke  in  low  voices,  but  an  old  clergyman 
(with  beautiful  white  hair  and  a  long  white  beard)  who 
got  in  at  a  station  after  theirs  seemed  interested  in  the 
couple.  When  they  relapsed  into  thoughtful  silence, 
he  kindly  offered  the  mother  a  share  of  his  papers  and 
magazines.  Later,  when  she  complained  of  a  headache, 
he  took  from  his  bag  a  bottle  of  smelling  salts,  begging 
her  to  keep  it  as  long  as  she  liked. 

She  went  to  sleep  with  it  in  her  hand  at  last;  and, 
rather  than  wake  her,  the  child  gently  withdrew  the 
bottle  from  the  clasping  fingers  when  the  old  clergy- 
man was  about  to  leave  the  train,  returning  it  to  him 
with  a  grateful  smile. 

He  had  bent  down  to  take  it,  and  as  he  did  so  the 
little  girl  looked  up  into  his  eyes.  They  were  curious 
eyes,  one  brown,  the  other  grayish-blue,  with  a  mot- 
tled yellow  line  round  the  pupil.  For  years  the  child 
had  not  thought  of  those  strange  eyes,  because,  a  few 
moments  after  the  clergyman  had  left  the  compart- 
ment, a  thing  had  happened  which  made  all  the  past 
seem  dim  and  far  away. 

At  the  next  station  the  slender  figure  in  black  had 
fallen  sidewaj^s,  with  a  slight  jerking  of  the  train  as 
it  stopped.     The  little  girl,  frightened,  had  attempted 


48  MY    LADY   CINDERELLA 

to  rouse  her  mother  in  vain.  The  sleep  into  which 
she  had  sunk  had  been  that  dread  sleep  which  knows 
no  waking. 

"Heart  failure,"  the  doctors  had  said ;  but  that  was 
afteru^ards.  The  picture  which  had  risen  to  blur  the 
features  of  the  handsome,  commonplace  room  in  Addi- 
son Road  held  only  the  sleeping  mother,  the  grateful 
child,  the  white-haired  clergyman  with  the  curious 
eyes. 

I  had  been  that  child.  And  those  eyes  were  re- 
flected now  in  the  mirror  over  the  desk. 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE  PLAUSIBILITY  OF  MR.  WYNNSTAY 

The  old  clergyman  who  had  travelled  in  the  same 
compartment  with  my  mother  and  me,  on  that  sad- 
dest day  of  my  life,  had  not  been  in  any  sinister  way 
connected  with  the  tragedy — ^which,  indeed,  only  oc- 
curred after  he  had  departed.  He  had  been  attentive 
and  kind  to  us ;  he  had  looked  keenly  at  me  as  he  went 
out;  these  were  his  sole  sins.  Yet  it  w^as  horrible  to 
see  the  ill-matched  eyes  again,  after  all  these  years,  set 
in  a  younger  face — a  face  differing  in  every  other  feat- 
ure, framed  no  longer  in  an  aureole  of  snowy  hair. 

How  was  I  so  sure  they  were  the  same  eyes?  I 
could  not  have  explained  that;  I  could  not  have  told 
my  impression  coherently  enough  to  prove  anything  to 
the  most  lenient  jury;  yet  I  was  sure.  And  being 
sure,  I  was  filled  with  the  greater  fear  at  what  I  saw. 

My  glance  into  the  mirror  showed  me  Mr.  Wynn- 
stay  standing  close  behind  my  chair,  pouring  the  con- 
tents of  a  bottle  upon  a  handkerchief.  He  was  stoop- 
ing over,  as  if  to  bring  himself  even  nearer  to  me.  As 
I  looked,  my  gaze  fixed  upon  the  glass  with  a  hateful 
fascination,  the  bottle  was  emptied;  I  began  to  inhale 
a  pungent,  sickly  odour,  which  was  not  entirely  un- 
familiar. Cousin  Sarah  East  used  stuff  that  smelled 
49 


so  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

like  this  sometimes  when  she  had  headaches.  It  was 
chloroform. 

Instantly  I  knew  what  was  coming,  though  why  it 
should  come  I  could  not  guess.  There  was  no  time 
for  speculation — no  time  for  thought  at  all.  With  a 
low  cry,  I  half  rose  in  my  chair.  The  man's  stout  body, 
pressing  against  it  now  from  behind,  prevented  my 
pushing  it  back.  The  slight  sound  I  had  uttered  caused 
him  to  start  and  lift  his  head  from  his  task.  Our  eyes 
met  in  the  mirror. 

For  my  life  I  could  not  have  withdrawn  mine.  I 
saw  him  in  the  glass,  as  he  pounced  upon  me  like  some 
great  bird  of  prey.  Then  the  picture  went  out,  like 
the  rainbow  tints  in  a  bubble  that  bursts,  for  my  face 
was  buried  in  the  dripping  handkerchief. 

For  some  short  space — how  many  seconds  it  might 
have  measured  I  cannot  tell — I  struggled,  voicelessly, 
striving  to  escape,  striving  to  breathe,  knowing 
through  it  all  that  if  I  could  only  scream,  the  janitor 
must  surely  hear  me  and  come.  I  knew  this;  but  I 
knew  also  that  with  every  breath  I  tried  to  draw  I 
merely  inhaled  the  heavy  fumes  of  chloroform,  which 
were  gradually  steeping  my  senses  in  sleep. 

I  felt  them  going — going — felt  consciousness  slip- 
ping from  me,  on  a  sluggish  tide.  I  began  to  see, 
in  a  dream,  white  pond  lilies  floating  along  the  smooth, 
moving  surface  of  w^ater,  bound  in  the  end  to  fall  over 
a  weir,  towards  which  they  were  almost  imperceptibly 
drifting.  Those  lilies  and  my  own  failing  senses  were 
somehow  the  same ;  if  I  could  arrest  one,  I  could  save 
both,  and  I  fought  for  the  life  of  my  own  soul. 


PLAUSIBILITY  OF  MR.  WYNNSTAY    51 

"I  mustn't  let  myself  go — I  mustn't." 

I  could  hear  the  adm.onition  buzzing  queerly  in  my 
mind,  like  a  wheel  spinning  round  and  round.  Once 
lost  to  consciousness,  I  dimly  felt  that  this  world  was 
finished  for  me — I  had  come  to  the  end;  the  lilies 
would  go  over  the  weir  and  be  beaten  to  shreds  in  the 
foaming  rush  of  the  water. 

Then  another  voice  came ;  very  small,  very  far  away 
it  seemed  in  my  strange  state,  but  growing  louder,  until 
it  shouted  thunderously  in  my  brain : 

''Don't  breathe ;  hold  your  breath  till  he  takes  away 
the  handkerchief.    Pretend  to  be  unconscious." 

I  had  just  presence  of  mind  enough  left  to  obey  the 
promptings  of  this  instinct  towards  self-preservation.  I 
thought  that  the  man  would  never  remove  the  wet 
linen  pressed  over  my  face ;  but  when  I  had  let  my  body 
collapse  limply  until  it  fell  back  into  his  arms,  the 
handkerchief  was  withdrawn. 

A  second  longer  and  I  must  have  gasped  wildly 
for  air,  filling  my  lungs  with  more  of  the  fumes, 
enough  to  send  the  poor,  floating  lilies,  which  I  still 
dreamily  saw,  over  the  crystal  lip  of  the  weir. 

My  eyes  were  closed;  my  head  was  lying  back 
against  the  man's  shoulder.  I  knew  that  he  was  gazing 
keenly  at  me,  and  I  dared  not  let  my  eyelids  quiver,  lest 
he  should  suspect  that  I  deceived  him. 

It  would  have  been  even  harder  than  it  was  to  lie 
motionless,  feigning  complete  unconsciousness,  had  it 
not  been  that  the  chloroform  had  already  half  done  its 
work. 

I  retained  a  knowledge  of  what  passed,  but  hazily, 


52  MY   LADY   CINDERELLA 

and  my  mind  was  clogged,  clouded  with  a  heavy  indif- 
ference to  my  fate.  I  was  like  one  who,  though  dream- 
ing still,  is  sufficiently  awake  to  know  that  he  dreams 
— no  more. 

"What  luck!  what  astounding  luck!"  the  man  who 
had  called  himself  Wynnstay  whispered  under  his 
breath,  a  note  of  triumph  thrilling  through  the  sub- 
dued voice.  ''That  it  should  have  been  to-night  of  all 
nights — after  the  telegram.  Like  a  lamb — that  pokes 
its  nose  into  the  butcher's  hand." 

The  muttered  words  struck  on  my  brain  as  if  they 
had  been  blows  from  a  tiny  hammer,  each  one  uner- 
ringly aimed  to  reach  the  tenderest  spot.  My  ebbing 
senses  came  back  with  a  shock,  a  wrenching  of  the 
nerves;  still,  my  body  and  my  spirit  felt  as  if  they 
were  separated,  and  I  were  trying  vainly  to  fit  them 
together  again,  so  that  I  could  move.  As  it  was,  I 
did  not  seem  to  have  any  control  over  my  own  muscles. 

''What  shall  I  do — how  save  myself  from  him?"  I 
thought.  "In  a  moment  it  may  be  too  late  to  decide. 
Am  I  to  lie  quietly  here,  or  am  I  to  stake  all  on  a 
single  move — now — in  this  instant?" 

Yet  I  could  do  nothing.  My  body  refused  obedience 
to  the  brain. 

The  man  gathered  me  up  in  his  arms  and  moved 
across  the  room.  A  minute  more  and  my  dress  was 
drenched  with  eau  de  Cologne.  I  wondered  mistily 
if  it  were  meant  to  drown  the  odour  of  the  chloroform. 
At  all  events,  it  was  not  dashed  into  my  face,  and 
evidently  was  not  used  with  the  intention  of  reviv- 
ing me. 


PLAUSIBILITY  OF  MR.  WYNNSTAY    53 

Once. more  Mr.  Wynnstay  moved  with  me  In  his 
arms.  To  my  surprise  and  almost  incredulous  joy, 
he  was  going  toward  the  door  that  led  into  the  hall. 

I  heard  him  call  in  a  fussy,  anxious  tone : 

"Denby!  Denby!  come  here,  quick!" 

The  door  squeaked  faintly,  and  the  janitor's  startled 
accents  responded : 

"Well,  sir?    Why,  whatever's  the  matter,  sir?" 

"Good  gracious !  can't  you  see  for  yourself  the  girl's 
fainted? — fell  over  in  her  chair  before  she  could  finish 
a  letter  I  was  dictating  to  her.  She  miust  have  been 
ill  when  she  came — most  inconsiderate,  I  must  say. 
Call  a  four-wheeler,  Denby,  as  quick  as  you  can.  I 
shall  take  her  to  my  doctor's  house.  I  can't  stand  a 
fainting  woman  on  my  hands." 

"Pshaw,  sir!  she'll  soon  come  round  again,"  soothed 
the  janitor. 

"I  won't  trust  to  that.  I'm  not  the  man  for  this 
sort  of  thing.  The  cab,  and  make  haste  about  it, 
Denby.  I'll  follow  you  out  of  doors  with  her,  where 
it's  dark.  Not  very  pleasant  for  me  if  anybody  should 
be  coming  in  and  catch  me  with  a  fainting  woman  in 
my  arms.    A  nice  situation!" 

"All  right,  sir,  if  you're  bound  to  have  her  out  of 
the  house,"  the  janitor  acquiesced,  with  a  humorous 
quaver  of  indulgence  in  his  voice.  "I'll  have  whistled 
you  a  four-wheeler  inside  a  couple  of  minutes,  I  dare 
say,  though  it's  a  bad  time  for  cabs  in  this  neighbour- 
hood, I'm  afraid." 

Mr.  Wynnstay  was  carrying  m.e  out  of  the  house. 
A  cool  air  blew  on  my  face,  and  a  flurry  of  rain  that 


54  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

had   begun   to  fall   from   long-threatening  skies   spat- 
tered my  forehead. 

"Confound  it!"  the  man  muttered,  and,  with  what 
secretiveness  I  could  imagine,  once  more  pressed  over 
my  mouth  and  nose  the  chlorformed  handkerchief, 
which  he  must  have  hidden  in  his  pocket. 

He  was  afraid  of  the  very  thing  which  had  oc- 
curred, and  behind  Denby's  back  was  endeavouring  to 
counteract  the  restorative  effect  of  wind  and  rain. 

I  had  been  summoning  all  my  strength,  all  my  ener- 
gies, for  an  effort  to  break  my  invisible  bonds;  and 
now  I  was  to  be  defeated  in  the  moment  of  success. 
If  I  could  only  hold  my  breath,  and  not  draw  in 
those  deadly  fumes 

There  was  the  whistle  for  the  cab  which  was  to 
take  me  away — where?  To  my  death,  perhaps.  I 
believed  now  that  I  must  be  in  the  hands  of  a 
madman,  for  he  could  have  no  sane  motive  in  wish- 
ing to  compass  the  destruction  of  so  insignificant  a 
creature  as  I.  A  madman  would  stop  at  nothing.  It 
was  now  or  never  with  me. 

Again  and  again  the  whistle,  and  then  came  the 
rattle  of  wheels.  A  cab  had  driven  hrough  the  gates, 
and  the  horse's  feet  were  crunching  the  gravel  of  the 
short  drive  that  led  up  to  the  house. 

The  man  who  held  me  started  forward,  the  handker- 
chief no  longer  covering  my  face;  then  I  heard  him 
draw  in  his  breath  sharply,  stepping  back  so  hastily 
that  he  stumbled. 

Involuntarily,  in  the  instinctive  effort  to  save  him- 
self from  a  fall,  his  grasp  was  loosened.     I  felt  myself 


PLAUSIBILITY  OF  MR.  WYNNSTAY  55 

slipping  out  of  his  arms,  and  with  one  supreme  effort, 
staggering,  panting,  quivering,  I  threw  him  off,  keep- 
ing my  feet  as  they  touched  the  ground. 

"Help!  help!"  I  whispered  feebly,  when  I  would 
have  shrieked  aloud. 

My  eyes  were  wide  open  now,  and  staring,  though 
everything  swam  before  them,  as  if  I  had  been  made 
giddy  with  the  long-continued  motion  of  a  merry-go- 
round.  What  I  saw,  what  I  heard,  mingled  together 
in  clamouring  confusion — a  pair  of  bright  lights, 
like  great  eyes,  a  hansom,  and  tv\^o  men  getting  out 
of  it. 

The  yellow  light  shone  on  the  face  of  one.  I  re- 
membered it,  and  was  vaguely  glad.  But,  strangely, 
being  glad  caused  me  to  weep,  and  through  my  weep- 
ing I  could  still  hear  down  by  the  gate  the  shrill  whis- 
tling that  was  to  summon  a  four-w^heeled  cab. 

"Save  me!"  I  articulated  hoarsely;  and  tottering  for- 
ward, I  kept  myself  from  falling  by  seizing  with  both 
hands  a  black  coat-sleeve  which  seemed  to  stretch  itself 
protectingly  toward  me. 

"Don't  be  frightened.  Of  course  I'll  help  you,"  a 
voice  said  soothingly.  "Has  this  man  been  annoying 
you?" 

I  pressed  closer  to  him,  farther  from  Mr.  Wynn- 
stay,  whom  with  clearing  vision  I  could  distinctly  see, 
his  whiskered  face  more  benevolent  of  aspect  than  ever 
now  that  the  smoked  glasses  once  more  hid  the  queer 
disparity  of  his  eyes. 

"He — he  was  going  to  kill  me,  I  think,"  I  panted. 

Somehow,    looking   at    that   mild    countenance,    my 


56  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

words  sounded  unconvincing,  foolish.     I  realized  this, 
and  was  abashed. 

Mr.  Wynnstay  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"There !"  he  exclaimed,  "that's  what  an  old  bachelor 
gets  for  meddling  with  what  doesn't  concern  him.  It's 
just  what  I  vias  afraid  of."  He  lifted  his  voice,  and 
called  to  the  janitor.  "Never  mind  the  cab,  Denby. 
The  lady  has  come  to  herself." 

"Whatever  this  man  says,  don't  believe  him,"  I 
pleaded.  "For  Heaven's  sake  don't  let  him  take  me 
away  with  him!" 

"Certainly  not,"  he  whose  arm  supported  me  re- 
turned with  decision.     "But " 

"Certainly  not,  indeed!"  broke  in  Mr.  Wynnstay 
irritably.  "It  is  the  last  thing  I  want,  I  can  tell  you, 
young  lady,  now  that  you  seem  to  need  a  doctor  as 
little  as  I  do.  I  ieally  must  ask  you  to  let  me  explain 
this  most  vexing  dilemma,  sir.  You  are  Sir  George 
Seaforth,  I  believe?  I've  seen  you  here  before,  as 
well  as  elsewhere.  You  will  probably  recognise  my 
name  also  when  I  mention  it — Nathaniel  Wynnstay, 
not  quite  unknown  as  a  solicitor." 

"I  think  I  have  friends  who  know  you,"  replied 
the  other,  somewhat  impatiently  I  thought.  "Still " 

Again  the  elder  man  interrupted: 

"I  feel  bound  to  introduce  myself,  under  the  un- 
pleasant aspersions  which  this  lady  has  been  misguided 
enough  to — but  a  few  words  will  make  everything 
plain.  I  bear  her  no  malice;  she  is  only  mistaken. 
Until  half  an  hour  ago  we  were  strangers.  She  came 
here  believing  this  to  be  Holland  Park  House.     I  was 


PLAUSIBILITY  OF  MR.  WYNNSTAY  57 

In  the  act  of  going  out  when  I  heard  her  Inquiring 
for  an  acquaintance  of  mine  living  almost  next  door. 
Seeing  that  she  was  bitterly  disappointed  when  I  was 
able  to  Inform  her  that  the  lady  was  away,  and  fancy- 
ing her  tired  and  ill,  I  determined  to  arrange  that 
she  should,  after  all,  spend  the  night  at  my  friend  Mrs. 
Leatherby-Smith's  house. 

"My  right  hand  being  lame,  I  suggested  that  she 
should  write  a  proposed  letter  to  the  housekeeper  for 
my  signature.  She  consented,  but  hardly  had  she  sat 
down  at  the  desk  in  my  study  when  I  saw  that  she 
was  on  the  point  of  fainting.  I  hurried  into  the  ad- 
joining room  for  some  eau  de  Cologne,  which  I  sprin- 
kled over  her,  unfortunately  without  avail.  I  then 
called  the  janitor,  and  requested  him  to  procure  a 
four-wheeled  cab,  Intending  to  drive  the  lady  to  my 
physlcan's,  not  far  off,  as  I  had  never  seen  a  woman 
faint  before,  and  dared  not  take  the  responsibility  of 
restoring  her.  Fearing  to  be  seen  in  a  ridiculous  posi- 
tion by  some  of  the  other  tenants  of  this  house,  I  has- 
tily carried  the  lady,  apparently  still  unconscious,  out 
of  doors  into  the  shadow  of  the  porch,  to  wait  until 
the  cab  should  arrive. 

"The  rest  you  know,  and  though  I  fail  to  com- 
prehend why  the  young  lady  I  tried  to  benefit  should 
accuse  me — er — as  a  would-be  murderer,  I  suppose 
hysterical  women  are  not  responsible  for  their  hallu- 
cinations." 

"He  drugged  me!"  I  stammered  weakly.  In  self- 
defence,  astounded  at  the  plausible  manner  In  which  he 
had  turned  the  story.    His  version  sounded  so  probable 


58  MY    LADY   CINDERELLA 

— ^mine  so  wildly  impossible.  *'He  pressed  a  handker- 
chief wet  with  chloroform  over  my  face.  I  kept  myself 
from  breathing  the  fumes  as  well  as  I  could,  but  I 
was  dazed.  Even  now  everything  seems  far  away  and 
strange." 

"You  dreamed  it  all,"  asserted  Mr.  Wynnstay. 
"Quite  natural.  I  have  no  hard  feelings  toward  you 
— though  it  is  a  little  discouraging  when  a  man  tries 
to  do  a  kind  action  to  be  rewarded  by  such  accusa- 
tions. What  motive  could  a  staid  old  fellow  like  me 
have  had,  my  dear  madam,  for  attempting  to  drug 
you?" 

"I— don't  know,"  I  faltered. 

"Ah,  I  thought  so.  You  will  presently,  I  am  sure, 
admit  that  you  have  done  me  a  further  injustice. 
Denby,  you  heard  and  saw  everything  that  took  place 
between  this  young  lady  and  me.  Perhaps  you  will 
kindly  add  your  testimony  to  mine." 

"Certingly,  sir,"  promptly  responded  the  janitor, 
pleased  to  be  called  upon  as  a  witness.  "It's  all  true 
what  Mr.  Wynnstay  says.  He  was  most  kind  to  the 
young  lady,  whom  he'd  evidently  never  set  eyes  on 
before  to-night.  When  she  w^nt  into  his  study  for 
the  letter  to  be  written  the  door  was  open,  and  Mr. 
Wynnstay  purticulurly  ast  me  to  stop  in  the  hall  a 
few  minutes  till  she  should  want  to  be  shown  out. 
I  did  stop,  and  I  could  easy  'ave  seen  everything  that 
went  on  in  the  study.  It  w^asn't  much  above  five  min- 
utes, I  should  think,  before  Mr.  Wynnstay  (one  of 
our  oldest  tenants,  I  may  say)  called  out  to  m^e  that 
the  lady'd  fainted.     I  was  scared,  though  not,  when 


PLAUSIBILITY  OF  xMR.  WYNNSTAY    59 

I  came  to  think  of  it,  surprised,  for  she  was  as  white 
as  a  ghost,  and  shaky-like,  when  I  opened  the  front- 
door for  her;  and  I  thought  she'd  'ave  dropped  when 
I  told  her  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  didn't  live  here.  Mr. 
Wynnstay  followed  me  out,  and  I'd  just  begun  to 
whistle  the  four-wheeler  when  j'our  hansom  drove  in." 

"I've  often  heard  my  friends  in  the  flat  next  mine 
speak  of  Mr.  Wynnstay,"  remarked  a  new  voice,  which 
I  had  not  heard  before. 

It  was  that  of  the  other  man,  who  had  come  in 
the  cab  with  Sir  George  Seaforth.  Sir  George  Sea- 
forth!  "What  association  did  that  name  call  up?"  I 
asked  myself.  I  could  not  remember;  my  head  ached 
blindingly,  and  I  felt  too  ill  for  further  mental  effort. 
But  I  knew  that  this  was  the  man  who,  near  Lady 
Sophie  de  Gretton's  house,  had  pulled  me  out  from 
among  the  horses  and  set  me  safely  on  the  pavement 
again.  To-day  seemed  full  of  coincidences;  but  I  was 
to  learn  later  that  this  meeting  was  not  a  coincidence. 
Rather,  it  was  a  direct  result  of  an  earlier  incident. 

The  other  man,  who  had  testified  last  to  the  im- 
maculate Mr.  Wynnstay 's  integrity,  I  had  never  seen 
before.  I  felt  no  curiosity  regarding  him — only  a  slight 
sense  of  resentment  that  he  should  defend  my  enemy 
seemingly  at  my  expense. 

Sir  George  Seaforth  looked  at  me,  and  I  met  his 
eyes  appealingly,  fearful  lest  Mr.  Wynnstay  and  his 
backers  had  alienated  him  from  my  cause.  But  there 
was  no  stern  incredulity  visible  on  the  brown  face, 
though  I  searched  the  semi-darkness  to  find  it.  The 
hansom  had   driven  away  now,   the  cabman  paid    (I 


6o  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

indistinctly  remembered   seeing)    by  Sir  George   Sea- 
forth's  companion. 

The  two  new-comers,  Mr.  Wynnstay,  the  janitor, 
and  I,  were  the  only  actors  in  the  scene — the  only  audi- 
ence as  well — our  footlights  the  bright  stream  of  elec- 
tricity which  poured  through  the  open  doors  into  the 
night. 

"You  oughtn't  to  be  standing  out  here  in  the  rain," 
said  Sir  George  Seaforth  to  me,  without  answering  his 
friend. 

Curiously,  even  in  that  moment,  there  was  room  in 
my  mind  for  triumph  that  his  first  thought,  after  all 
he  had  heard,  was  still  of  my  welfare. 

"You  look  awfully  ill.  What  would  you  like  to 
do?     Will  you  go  at  once  to  your  friends'  house?" 

"I  can't  go  now,"  I  answered.  "They're  away, 
and " 

"But  you  can  still  have  the  introduction  to  the  house- 
keeper I  promised,"  benevolently  interrupted  Mr. 
Wynnstay.  "As  I  said,  I  bear  you  no  malice,  poor 
child,  for  the  illusion  of  a  temporarily  disordered  brain. 
I'm  certain  that,  by  this  time,  you  are  ready  to  see 
common-sense  and  laugh  at  your  former  suspicions. 
Come  now!  to  prove  you  regret  your  injustice,  better 
let  me  escort  you  to  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith's.  We 
won't  trouble  any  further  about  the  letter;  and  Hol- 
land Park  House  is  only  a  few  steps  from  here." 

"No — no!"  I  ejaculated. 

"What?  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  still  be- 
lieve me  a — er — a  villain  out  of  melodrama?"  Mr. 
Wynnstay  laughed  jovially. 


PLAUSIBILITY  OF  MR.  WYNNSTAY    6i 

He  was  either  a  marvellous  actor  or  else — or  else 
he  was  right,  and  hunger,  fatigue,  and  excitement  had 
combined  to  make  me  dream  things  unspeakable.  Was 
it,  after  all,  possible  that  I  had  been  on  the  point  of 
fainting,  without  the  subtle  aid  of  drugs,  and  in  the 
clouded  moment  of  swooning  imagined  the  picture  in 
the  looking-glass? 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE  MEETING  THAT  WAS  NOT  A  COINCIDENCE 

How  could  I  prove  my  story?  I  had  been  tired,  I 
had  been  almost  ready  to  faint.  Sheer  hunger  had 
made  my  head  feel  as  if  it  were  filled  with  the  fumes 
of  new  wine.  It  had  been  so  before  I  looked  up 
into  the  mirror  to  see  Mr.  Wynnstay  pouring  some- 
thing out  of  a  bottle  on  to  a  handkerchief. 

How  could  I  be  sure,  and  make  others  sure,  that 
it  had  been  chloroform?  Maybe  I  had  lost  conscious- 
ness at  once,  and,  as  Mr.  Wynnstay  said,  dreamed  all 
the  rest.  I  saw,  or  thought  I  saw,  that  Sir  George 
Seaforth  and  his  friend  both  thought  that  it  was  so. 

I  no  longer  found  any  resemblance  between  this  pro- 
saic, gray-whiskered,  middle-aged  man  and  the  pictur- 
esque old  clergyman  with  the  white  hair  and  the  eyes 
that  did  not  match.  Even  if  such  a  resemblance  did 
exist — even  if  by  an  astonishing  coincidence  the  two 
were  one  and  the  same — how  could  I  possibly  prove  it 
now?  Besides,  the  clergyman  had  done  us  no  harm. 
He  had  come  and  gone  on  that  sorrowful  day,  and 
been  connected  with  its  grief  only  through  the  chance 
that  he  had  been  travelling  for  a  short  distance  in  our 
company. 

I  realized  that  the  ground  was  cut  away  from  under 
62 


A  MEETING  NOT  A  COINCIDENCE     63 

my  feet.  To-morrow  (if  I  had  eaten  and  slept  mean- 
while) I  might  once  again  feel  as  certain  of  what  I 
had  seen  in  the  mirror  as  I  had  felt  at  the  time;  but 
now  I  could  plan  nothing,  do  nothing.  If  my  eyes  had 
seen  aright,  then  Mr.  Wynnstay  was  too  clever  for  me 
to  cope  with.  If  they  had  been  deceived,  it  would  be 
shameful  to  reiterate  my  accusations.  I  was  very  un- 
happy, utterly  bewildered. 

'1  don't  know  what  to  say,"  I  exclaimed  at  last. 
''Only — I  would  rather  go  alone  to  Mrs.  Leatherby- 
Smith's.  I — if  I  have  misjudged  you,  I  hope  you  will 
forgive  me.  But — but  I  can't  forget  what  I  thought. 
I  can't  trust  myself  with  you  alone,  feeling  as  I  do." 

The  man  shrugged  his  elderly  shoulders.  Sir  George 
Seaforth  had  led  me  up  on  the  porch  out  of  the  rain, 
which  was  increasing,  and  it  gave  me  a  sense  of  pro- 
tection to  be  near  him.  I  feared  at  first  lest  he  should 
fail  me,  and  deliver  me  over  to  the  enemy;  but  I  was 
sure  he  would  not  do  that  now. 

'Tar  be  it  from  me  to  inflict  myself  upon  you,  if 
you  can  do  without  me,  madam,"  returned  Mr.  Wynn- 
stay. "You  intimated  that  you  had  nowhere  else  to 
go;  yet  you  seemed  to  think  your  reception  by  servants 
)'ou  did  not  know  in  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith's  house  was 
more  than  doubtful.  If  you  have  other  resources,  and 
much  the  better." 

"I  have  no  others — for  the  present,"  I  stammered. 
"But " 

"In  a  way  this  lady  and  I  are  old  acquaintances," 
broke  in  Sir  George  Seaforth  impulsively,  after  a  quick 
glance  at  my  distressed  face.     "I  had  the  privilege  of 


64  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

(doing  her  a  very  small  service  only  this  afternoon,  so 
that  perhaps  she  vuill  allow  me  to  make  a  suggestion. 
Mr.  Wynnstay  seems  to  have  said  that  a  Mrs.  Leath- 
erby-Smith,  living  in  this  street,  was  away.  If  that 
statement  proves  true,  it  is  so  much  in  his  favour; 
therefore  it  is  only  fair  that  he  should  be  granted  a 
chance  of  vindicating  himself.  Suppose,  then,  that  we 
all  three  go  with  her  to  the  door  of  this  other  house?" 

He  had   addressed   no  one  in   particular,   but   had 

spoken  to  all.    My  eyes  were  on  Mr.  Wynnstay 's  face, 

and  I  thought  that  he  looked  disconcerted,  a  dull  red 

•  flush  slowly  mounting  to  his  forehead.     But  if  it  were 

so  he  soon  ceased  to  show  traces  of  his  disturbance. 

"Thank  you,"  I  said  quickly.  "I  should  be  glad 
if  you  would  go." 

I  did  not  stop  to  reflect  that  it  might  look  strange 
to  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith's  servants  for  a  young  woman 
to  arrive  at  eleven  o'clock  at  night  with  a  bodyguard 
of  three  men.  I  only  remembered  that  I  had  to  go 
somewhere,  and  soon;  that,  above  all,  I  would  go 
nowhere  alone  with  Mr.  Wynnstay. 

''It's  settled,  then,"  Sir  George  Seaforth  took  me  up. 
*'rve  an  umbrella,  and  if  you  will  allow  me,  I'll  shield 
you  from  the  rain.  Mr.  Wynnstay,  you  and  my  friend 
'Benoit  seem  to  be  old  neighbours,  so  perhaps  you'll  show 
us  the  way." 

My  thoughts  were  very  busy  as  we  walked  from 
Holland  Park  Mansions  to  Holland  Park  House,  and 
I  wondered  greatly  what  might  be  in  Mr.  Wynnstay's 
mind  now  that  the  management  of  aiifairs  had  been 
taken  thus  summarily  out  of  his  hands.     It  seemed  to 


A  MEETING  NOT  A  COINCIDENCE     65 

me  that  Sir  George  Seaforth  had  acted  with  diplomacy, 
putting  the  other  in  a  position  to  appear  discredited  if 
he  betrayed  reluctance. 

I  liked  Sir  George  Seaforth,  and  I  was  more  thank- 
ful than  I  could  have  expressed  for  his  timely  inter- 
vention. 

Just  how  much  he  had  really  saved  me  from  I  did 
not  know,  but  at  least  he  had  relieved  my  mind  of  an 
agonizing  burden  of  fear,  and  for  the  second  time  in 
the  day  I  was  grateful  to  him. 

Now  that  my  brain  was  less  oppressed  by  the  weight 
of  bewilderment  and  dread,  I  remembered  well  enough 
where  and  when  I  had  heard  his  name  before.  Indeed, 
it  seemed  strange  that  I  had  not  instantly  recollected. 

The  footman  at  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton's  had  an- 
nounced Sir  George  Seaforth,  and  gratified  his  mis- 
tress by  showing  her  visitor  into  the  boudoir  instead  of 
bringing  him  into  the  drawing-room,  where  Anne  and  I 
had  been  sitting.  Sir  George  could  have  made  but  a 
short  call,  for  not  ten  minutes  after  we  had  left  the 
house  he  had  arrived  in  Hamilton  Place,  and  had 
extricated  me  from  my  difficulty  in  the  street. 

As  I  looked  back,  the  chain  of  events  which  con- 
nected us  appeared  to  be  linked  together  in  a  curious 
and  complicated  manner. 

"It  must  seem  very  strange  to  you  that  I  should  be 
here,"  I  said  lamely,  as  we  followed  Mr.  Wynnstay's 
bulky  shoulders  towards  Holland  Park  House. 

"Strange?"  he  echoed.  "Not  at  all.  Your  friend 
gave  this  address  in  the  cab  to-day.  I  thought  you 
lived  here.  That's  the  reason " 


66  MY    LADY   CINDERELLA 

He  stopped  abruptly. 
"The  reason  for  what?"  I  questioned. 
"If  I  finished  that  sentence  you  would  be  vexed.     I 
don't  want  to  vex  you." 

"But  I  wouldn't  be,  I  promise.  You  have  been  so 
kind." 

"Well,  then,  I  was  going  to  say  that  I  should  not 
have   been   with    Benoit   this   evening  if  your   friend 
hadn't  mentioned  Holland  Park  House." 
"I  don't  understand." 

"Oh,  well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  dined  at  a  club  where 
I  thought  I  should  be  pretty  sure  to  meet  Benoit,  and 
then  I  hinted  for  an  invitation  to  come  home  with  him. 
He's  sometimes  asked  me  before,  and — er — I've  usually 
been  engaged.  But  I  was  in  hopes  he  knew  you  and 
your  friend,  you  see,  living  so  near  and  all  that,  and 
I  thought  he  might  tell  me  something  about  you." 

Evidently  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton  had  kept  her  own 
counsel.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  been  vexed,  but  I 
was  not.  I  was  glad  that  Sir  George  Seaforth  had 
taken  so  much  trouble  to  learn  something  more  about 
the  owner  of  a  tolerably  prepossessing  face  seen  in  a 
crowd. 

My  heart  beat  faster  at  the  idea  of  meeting  him 
again  some  day  when  I  should  be  visiting  in  Park 
Lane.  I  was  even  tempted  to  speak  of  the  prospect, 
but  I  refrained.  If  he  had  not  forgotten  by  that  time 
— and  the  time  should  actually  come — it  would  be 
pleasant  to  watch  the  effect  of  a  surprise. 
"Are  you  angry?"  he  was  asking. 
"No — o.     I  don't  think  so.     After  all  you've  done 


A  MEETING  NOT  A  COINCIDENCE     67 

for  me  in  a  day,  It  would  be  too  ungracious  to  be  angry. 
You  can  hardly  understand  how  thankful  I  was  to 
you  for — for  coming  just  when  you  did  to-night." 

"I  only  wish  I  could  have  known  and  come  sooner. 
But  I  really  think — if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so 
— you  were  mistaken  about  that  old  chap.  He  has 
the  reputation  of  being  a  very  respectable  sort  of 
person.  It  sounds  such  a  mad  trick,  doesn't  it,  for 
an  elderly  solicitor  to  chloroform  and  attempt  to  kid- 
nap a  young  lady  without  any  apparent  object  except 
the  fun  of  the  thing?  Still,  I  wouldn't  for  the  world 
he  should  have  gone  a  step  with  you  alone." 

"I  am  beginning  to  believe  I  may  have  deceived 
myself,  and  to  feel  very  foolish,"  I  confessed.  "I  was 
so  sick — so  dazed — I  might  have  imagined  things.  But 
^  I  am  much  better  now." 

We  had  reached  a  gate,  and  Mr.  Wynnstay,  with 
his  companion,  Mr.  Benoit,  was  going  in.  We  fol- 
lowed up  a  path,  and  were  close  behind  them  when 
Mr.  Wynnstay  rang  the  house  bell. 

Sir  George  Seaforth  had  only  had  time  to  ask  me  a 
question,  which  I  had  not  yet  answered,  when  a  foot- 
man appeared  at  the  door — a  footman  in  a  far  more 
showy  livery  than  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton's. 

"Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  is  away,  I  believe?"  Mr. 
Wynnstay  announced  rather  than  inquired. 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  eyes  behind  the  smoked  spectacles  glanced  back 
at  me.  The  man's  whole  aspect  said:  "So,  you  see, 
I  did  not  deceive  you." 

"And  Miss  Bryden — she  also  is  absent,  Is  she  not?" 


68  MY   LADY    CINDERELLA 

"Yes,  sir.  She  Is  with  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith." 
"I  thought  so.  It  is  unfortunate,  for  here  is  a  lady, 
a  friend  of  Miss  Bryden's,  who  through  an  accident 
finds  it  very  desirable  that  she  should  stay  here  all 
night.  You  had  better  show^  her  in  to  the  house- 
keeper, and  ask  that  she  be  taken  up  to  Miss  Bryden's 
room." 

The  footman  looked  very  blank. 
"I'm   sorr}^   sir,"   he  said,   "but   Mrs.   Purkis,    the 
housekeeper,   had   permission   to   go  out  of   town   for 
the  night.    It  is  as  much  as  my  place  is  w^orth  to  admit 
a  stranger  when  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  isn't  at  home." 
"What!  A  friend  of  Miss  Bryden's?" 
"I'm  afraid  that  wouldn't  matter  at  all,  sir." 
"Well,  then — er — a  friend  of  mine?" 
"Even  then,  sir.    You  see,  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  is 
a   peculiar    lady.     She's   more    easily   displeased    than 

pleased,  sir,  and " 

"What's  all  this  fuss  about?"  sharply  inquired  a 
woman's  voice,  and  an  odd  apparition  made  its  appear- 
ance in  the  dimly-lighted  hall. 

It  was  an  old  lady,  in  a  bonnet  which  possessed  a 
personality  as  distinct  as  the  wearer's.  Over  the  griz- 
zled curls  that  hung  on  either  side  a  long,  narrow  face, 
the  bonnet  seemed  to  nod  at  us  with  an  intelligence 
of  its  own,  mingled  of  many  features — feathers,  flow- 
ers, and  satin  bows. 

"Who's  a  friend  of  Miss  Bryden's,  who  wants  to 
stay  here  all  night?"  the  new  arrival  demanded. 

The  footman  stepped  aside,  his  lips  twitching,  and 
with  a  gesture  indicated  me. 


A  MEETING  NOT  A  COINCIDENCE     69 

"A  very  pretty  girl,"  remarked  the  old  lady,  with 
unembarrassed  frankness.  'And  who  may  you  be,  my 
dear?" 

"Consuelo  Brand,"  I  responded. 

If  Sir  George  Seaforth  had  been  Ignorant  of  my 
name,  he  would  know  It  now. 

"I  am  Miss  Smith,"  vouchsafed  the  apparition  in 
return.  ''Plain  Jane  Smith;  there's  no  Leatherby 
about  m.e,  though  I  am  the  sister  of  Mrs.  Leatherby- 
Smith's  late  husband.  I  have  arrived  unexpectedly 
to-night,  as  my  sister-in-law  has  yet  to  find  out.  I 
was  having  my  supper  there,  in  the  dining-room,  when 
I  heard  all  this  disputation.  If  you're  a  friend  of 
Miss  Bryden's  you  shall  stop  here.  I  like  Miss  Bryden. 
She's  not  as  pretty  as  you  are,  but  I  dare  say  she's  a 
good  bit  cleverer.  You  needn't  look  so  sour,  John, 
or  James,  or  whatever  your  name  Is.  Mrs.  Leatherby- 
Smlth  Is  always  willing  to  please  me,  as  you'll  see  for 
yourself  before  I've  been  long  In  the  house.  Come  In, 
Miss  Brand.  I  suppose  these  gentlemen  don't  wish 
to  stay  here,  too?" 

"Now  that  Miss  Brand  Is  safely  settled,  we  will 
bid  her  good-night,"  said  Sir  George  Seaforth. 

The  old  lady  stared  at  him,  screwing  up  her  eyes 
until  her  wrinkled  face  looked  whimsically  shrewd. 

"Are  you  her  brother?"  she  Inquired. 

"Only  a  friend,"  explained  Sir  George. 

"Humph!  Well,  good-night  to  you,  gentlemen.  You 
need  have  no  anxiety  on  your  young  friend's  account. 
She  is  quite  safe  with  me." 

Sir  George  Seaforth  held  out  his  hand.     I  took  It, 


70  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

and  felt  mine  warmly  grasped.  I  thought  he  wished 
the  pressure  to  tell  me  that  he  was  really  my  friend. 
A  moment  more,  and  the  door  had  shut  the  three  men 
out  of  my  sight. 

"Come  into  the  dining-room  with  me,"  said  plain 
Miss  Jane  Smith.  "I  haven't  finished  my  supper  yet, 
and  I'm  as  hungry  as  a  hunter.  My  sister-in-law  won't 
be  home  till  nearly  twelve,  I  dare  say." 

"Is  Mrs.  lyeatherby-Smith  coming  home  to-night 
then?"  I  inquired  eagerly.  "I  thought — I  was  told 
she  was  to  be  avv^ay  till  to-morrow%" 

Miss  Smith  looked  at  the  footman. 

"She  has  gone  to  the  theatre,"  he  vouchsafed.  "Miss 
Bryden  went  with  her,  as  a  lady  she  had  asked  sent 
word  she  was  ill  at  the  last  moment.  We  are  expect- 
ing them  home  in  about  half  an  hour." 

After  all,  then,  Mr.  Wynnstay  had  been  wrong. 
Either  he  had  deliberately  deceived  me,  for  the  purpose 
which  he  had  tried  to  carry  out  and  failed,  or  else  he 
had  misunderstood  information  really  received  from 
Mrs.  Leatherbj^-Smith.  I  was  sure,  whichever  it  might 
be,  that  he  was  clever  enough,  if  confronted  with  the 
discrepancy,  to  make  it  appear  quite  natural  that  he 
had  been  mistaken. 

I  only  wished,  in  any  case,  that  I  had  heard  this 
piece  of  news  before  his  departure;  for  all  that  the 
footman  had  said  in  his  presence  corroborated  his 
statements  to  me. 

By  this  time  we  had  entered  the  dining-room,  and 
I  glanced  wistfully  at  the  tray  appetizingly  set  forth 
on   the  big  table.     Perhaps   Miss   Smith   caught   the 


A  MEETING  NOT  A  COINCIDENCE     71 

hungry  gleam  in  my  eye,   for  she  suggested  without 
delay  that  I  should  share  her  meal. 

The  footman  (who  ventured  to  inform  his  mis- 
tress's eccentric  sister-in-law  that  he  was  called 
"Thomas")  waited  upon  us,  bestowing  scanty  atten- 
tion on  me,  however,  and  showing,  as  only  a  servant 
can,  that  but  for  Miss  Smith  I  would  have  been  a 
person  beneath  his  august  consideration. 

Revived  by  cold  chicken  and  salad,  I  answered  the 
spinster's  numerous  questions,  and  only  had  time  to 
revert  to  my  fear  of  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  when  her 
arrival  was  imminent. 

"I  do  hope  she  won't  mind  very  much.  I  hope  she 
won't  think  it  horrid  of  me  to  come  in  and  impose  upon 
her,  and  perhaps  be  vexed  with  poor  Anne  on  my 
account." 

*'My  dear  Miss  Brand,  I  am  in  the  house,"  Miss 
Smith  dryly  reminded  me.  "You  have  to  learn  that, 
though  my  dear  sister-in-law  Caroline  would  be 
ashamed  to  have  me  inside  her  doors,  with  the  chance 
that  some  of  her  grand  friends  might  see  me  and  con- 
sider me  a  guy,  if  I  were  a  poor  woman ;  as  it  is  she 
puts  up  with  me  and  my  clothes  and  my  crankiness 
because  she  expects  that  one  day  I'll  leave  her  a  for- 
tune. Whether  I  shall  do  that  or  not  remains  to  be 
seen;  in  fact,  it  depends  very  largely  on  herself,  as 
she  well  knows.  She  will  be  intensely  annoyed  when 
she  finds  that  I  have  arrived,  and  she  will  wish  me 
in  Jericho,  or,  still  better,  in  my  grave  (provided  the 
will  were  all  right),  but  she  will  pretend  to  be 
delighted  at  the  surorise.     And  when  I  say  I  insisted 


72  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

on  your  coming  in,  that  I  might  be  amused  and  saved 
from  dozing  off  in  her  absence,  she  will  outwardly 
smile  on  you,  though  within  she  will  be  abusing  us 
both,  and  may  even  resort  to  profanity.  I  suppose, 
as  long  as  she  is  civil,  you  don't  mind  what  she  thinks?" 

"Not  so  very  much,"  I  replied  doubtfully,  starting 
as  I  spoke  at  the  imperious  ringing  of  the  door  bell, 
which  caused  Thomas  almost  to  fall  over  his  own 
smartly-shod  feet  in  his  anxiety  to  answer  it. 

"What !  Miss  Smith  in  the  dining-room,  and  another 
lady?"  exclaimed  a  sharp  voice  in  the  hall.  Then, 
with  an  accompaniment  of  rustling  silk  and  satin,  a 
figure  blazing  with  jewels  swept  in  the  room. 

The  old  lady,  who  did  not  deign  to  rise  for  the 
greeting,  was  overwhelmed  with  embraces.  I  had 
jumped  up  guiltily,  feeling  much  like  a  detected  thief, 
and  gazed  anxiously  about  for  Anne;  but  she  had  not 
followed  her  employer  into  the  room.  I  dared  not 
speak,  or  go  in  search  of  her,  but  stood  humbly  waiting 
the  cessation  of  endearments.  Fully  a  minute  must 
have  passed  before  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  turned  an 
acid  smile  on  me. 

She  was  big,  and  florid,  and  formidable,  with  a 
skin  that  looked  as  if  it  might  be  one  size  too  small 
for  her  massive  face  and  as  much  of  her  body  as  a 
low-cut  gown  generously  displayed. 

"How  do  you  do?"  she  remarked,  with  an  evident 
effort  to  be  civil.  "You  are  a  friend  of  my  dear  sister 
Jane's,  of  course?" 

"She's  a  friend  of  mine  since  half  an  hour  ago,  for, 
like  most  ugly  old  women,  I  like  pretty  faces  and  sweet 


A  MEETING  NOT  A  COINCIDENCE      73 

voices,"  explained  the  dear  Jane.  "But  she  came 
here  to  see  your  companion,  that  nice  honest  girl  Anne 
Bryden,  and  I  insisted  that  she  should  come  in." 

"Oh,  indeed!" 

Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  froze  visibly.  Her  light  eyes 
snapped,  but  her  voice  still  smoothly  did  honour  to  the 
rich  relative. 

"It  is  rather  late  for  a  visit  to  Miss  Bryden ;  but,  of 
course,  if  you  think  best " 

"That's  what  I  told  her,"  calmly  interpolated  Miss 
Smith. 

"Thomas  shall  call  Miss  Bryden.  She  can  come 
down  for  a  few  minutes,  I  suppose,  though  she  has 
just  gone  up  to  her  bedroom.  You — er — live  in  the 
neighbourhood,  Miss Miss " 

"Brand,"  finished  the  spinster.  "No,  she's  been  tell- 
ing me  she  lives  in  Peckham.  She's  had  a  little  trouble 
at  home,  and  I  assured  her  that  you  would  be  quite 
pleased  she  should  spend  the  night  here  with  her 
friend." 

Mrs.  Leatherby-Smlth's  soul  writhed  under  that 
tight  skin  of  hers. 

My  frightened  eyes  could  almost  see  its  convulsions. 

"Really!  I "  she  began "really,  I  don't  see 

that  I  am  called  upon  to  entertain  my  secretary's 
friends  whenever  they  have  trouble  at  home  and 
choose  to  make  a  convenience  of  my  house.  I  am  sur- 
prised at  Miss  Bryden.  She  and  I  are  not  on  such 
terms  that " 

"Hoity  toity,  don't  blame  Anne  Bryden!"  ejaculated 
the  old  lady,  her  quaint  curls  shaking  like  a  peal  of 


74  MY   LADY   CINDERELLA 

bells.  "If  anybody's  to  be  hauled  over  the  coals, 
Caroline,  haul  me.  Though  I  tell  you  frankly  I'm 
not  fond  of  being  scolded,  when  I  think  I've  acted  for 
the  best.  Send  the  girl  out  into  the  street,  by  all 
means,  if  you  grudge  her  half  Anne  Bryden's  bed,  and 
a  bit  of  bacon  in  the  morning;  but  if  you  do,  as  I'm 
responsible  for  her  being  here,  I'll  go  with  her.  I  dare 
say  we  can  get  accommodation  at  a  hotel  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, if  it  is  nearly  twelve  o'clock." 

But  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  was  ready  to  atone  with 
tears  for  offending  her  dear  Jane ;  Jane  had  quite  mis- 
understood her;  she  had  been  taken  by  surprise,  that 
was  all.  Of  course,  the  young  person  was  welcome 
to  stop,  if  she  liked — one  night,  two  nights — as  many 
nights  as  Jane  desired.  Thomas  should  take  Miss — 
er — Brand  to  Therese,  the  French  maid,  who  would 
show  her  up  to  Miss  Bryden's  room  at  once. 

Yes,  that  would  be  best.  Then  Mrs.  Leatherby- 
Smith  and  dear  Jane  could  have  a  little  quiet  chat, 
undisturbed. 

Before  I  fairly  realized  what  had  happened,  I  had 
been  swept  out  of  the  room  with  a  tidal  wave  of  foot- 
man, and  was  mounting  the  stairs.  From  an  open  door 
on  the  first  floor  issued,  in  answer  to  Thomas's  call 
of  "Ma'mselle,"  a  neat  Frenchwoman,  who,  with  criti- 
cism in  her  eye,  consented  to  conduct  me  further. 

Anne's  bedchamber  could  not  have  been  higher  up, 
unless  it  had  been  built  like  an  excrescence  on  the  roof. 
It  was  surrounded  by  servants'  rooms,  as  I  guessed 
from  an  adjacent  sound  of  snoring,  which  could  only 
have  proceeded  from  the  lungs  of  a  professed  cook. 


A  MEETING  NOT  A  COINCIDENCE     75 

Therese's  tap  at  the  door  caused  it  to  be  thrown 
suddenly  open,  and  there  stood  Anne,  already  half 
undressed. 

"Good  gracious — Consuelo  Brand!"  she  ejaculated. 

"Is  it  you,  or  your  ghost?" 

'Tm  not  quite  sure,"  I  answered,  rather  tremulously, 
as  she  stepped  aside  to  let  me  in,  for  I  had  gone  through 
a  great  deal  in  the  past  seven  or  eight  hours. 

"Does  Mrs.   Leatherby-Smith  know  you're  here?" 

The  whole  history  of  Anne's  relations  with  her  em- 
ployer v\  ere  in  the  anxious  tone  of  her  voice,  the  wor- 
ried look  in  her  eye. 

"Yes.  She  sent  her  maid  up  with  me.  Oh,  Anne, 
I  have  so  much — such  extraordinary^  things  to  tell  you." 

"Sh!"  she  whispered.  "Let  me  peep  first  and  see 
if  Therese  is  listening  at  the  keyhole." 


I  did  not  sleep  much  that  night,  and  neither  did 
Anne.  After  I  had  told  her  the  story  of  my  adven- 
tures since  our  parting,  we  did  not  talk  a  great  deal; 
but  there  were  certain  of  her  comments  on  my  story 
which  made  a  deep  impression  on  my  mind.  As  for 
my  experience  with  Mr.  Wynnstay,  her  practical  com- 
mon-sense scorned  my  sensational  imaginings.  Of 
course,  it  was  nonsense  about  his  having  been  disguised 
as  a  clergj^man  all  those  years  ago,  or  the  clergyman 
being  disguised  at  present  as  Mr.  Wynnstay — if  I  liked 
to  put  it  so. 

Plenty  of  people  had  eyes  that  did  not  match  in 
colour.    Anne's  mother  had  once  had  a  German  waiter 


76  MY   LADY   CINDERELLA 

in  the  Bloomsbury  boarding-house  like  that.  Besides, 
she  herself  had  seen  a  woman  in  the  street  not  long 
ago  with  a  blue  eye  and  a  brown  eye.  It  was  uncom- 
mon, but  not  so  wonderfully  rare  as  I  seemed  to  think. 
No  doubt  all  that  business  of  the  mirror  had  been  a 
sort  of  nightmare  while  I  was  fainting.  I  had  glanced 
up  just  as  I  was  about  to  slip  off  into  unconsciousness, 
seen  Mr.  Wynnstay  coming  with  the  eau  de  Cologne, 
as  he  had  afterwards  suggested,  and  then  Imagined 
everything  else. 

All  this  part  of  my  tale,  however,  Anne  seemed  in- 
clined to  dismiss  as  of  comparatively  little  importance. 
Oddly  enough,  it  appeared  to  me,  she  was  far  more 
struck  by  my  second  meeting  with  Sir  George  Sea- 
forth,  and  the  fact  that  he  should  be  Sir  George  Sea- 
forth  at  all. 

"It  looks  as  If  Fate  had  a  hand  in  it,"  she  said  with 
a  sigh — her  face  pale  and  weary  in  the  bright  moon- 
light that  streamed  through  the  uncurtained  window, 
for  we  were  talking  in  bed.  "First  we  hear  of  him  at 
that  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton's" — Anne  was  fond  of 
prefacing  a  name  she  did  not  fancy  with  a  disdainful 
"that" — "then  we  meet  him  in  the  street,  and  he 
saves  you  from  being  run  over,  without  our  knowing 
who  he  is.  Again,  the  same  night,  he  comes  to  your 
rescue,  when  you  fancy  yourself  in  danger  (not  that 
I  think  you  really  were),  and  you  find  out  that  he 
Is  the  very  man  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton  wanted  to 
keep  you  from  meeting." 

"We  don't  know  that  it  was  so  at  all,"  I  retorted, 
defending  the  absent. 


A  MEETING  NOT  A  CG^NCIDENCE     77 

But  Anne  did  not  seem  to  hear.     "I  wonder  why  \ 

some  women  should  have  everything,"  she  murmured,  i 

"and  others — nothing?"  * 

"What  do  you  mean,  dear?"  I  questioned. 

She  did  not  answer,  and  I  could  see  her  eyes  staring 
into  the  moonlight,  oblivious  of  me.  It  was  these 
last  words  of  Anne's  which  did  as  much  as  anything 
else  to  keep  me  waking  that  night.  \ 


CHAPTER    IX 

THE  BENEFIT  OF  THE  DOUBT 

In  the  morning  she  was  more  like  herself,  and  only 
laughed  when  I  proposed  telegraphing  to  ask  Lady 
Sophie  de  Gretton  if  I  might  go  to  her  that  day, 
instead  of  the  next. 

'Til  lend  you  the  money  gladly,  Con,"  said  Anne 
dryly — for  without  this  favour  I  should  not  have  been 
able  to  send  a  wire — "but  I  don't  believe  for  a  moment 
that  Lady  Sophie  meant  a  word  she  said.  I  know  a 
lot  about  her — things  I've  had  to  read  aloud  in  the 
society  papers  since  I've  been  with  Mrs.  Leatherby- 
Smith ;  and  then  the  vulgar,  pushing  set  that  come  here 
are  always  chattering  about  the  aristocracy,  pretending 
they've  intimate  friends  among  them  whose  secrets 
they're  acquainted  with.  I've  often  heard  Lady  Sophie 
de  Gretton's  name,  and  though  some  of  the  things  may 
have  been  gossip,  others  must  have  been  true." 

"What  have  you  heard  that  makes  you  think  she 
didn't  mean  me  to  take  her  invitation  seriously?"  I 
persisted,  trying  to  look  indifferent,  though  my  heart 
was  heavy  and  afraid. 

I  had  burned  my  boats  behind  me  when  I  left  Peck- 
ham,  and  without  Lady  Sophie's  hand  to  help  me  out 
78      • 


THE  BENEFIT  OF  THE  DOUBT        I9 

©f  the  water,  ft  seemed  to  my  inexperience  that  I  must 
surely  drown. 

"Well,  you  may  have  guessed  that  when  she  first 
spoke  to  us  in  the  Park  I  didn't  believe  that  she  told 
the  truth  in  announcing  herself  as  Lady  Sophie  de 
Gretton.  I  thought  the  woman  was  an  impostor,  who 
had  borrowed  a  well-known  name  to  deceive  us,  for 
some  horrid  reason  or  other.  But  you  would  go  home 
with  her.  I  couldn't  let  you  two  march  off  alone, 
and  when  I  saw  the  house  and  heard  the  servant  calling 
her  'my  lady,'  I  knew  she  couldn't  have  been  lying. 
She-  was  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton,  and  being  Lady 
Sophie  de  Gretton,  it  seemed  all  the  more  sure  that 
she  wouldn't  want  to  be  bothered  with  a  long  visit  from 
a  poor  girl  like  you." 

"She — she  explained,"  I  put  in  shyly. 

For  to  remember  that  flattering  explanation  made  me 
appear  conceited. 

"Y^.  No  doubt  she  did  admire  you,  and  think  she 
w^ould  like  to  see  how  you  would  look  dressed  up  in 
smart  clothes.  Then  she  got  talking  on,  till  she'd  com- 
m'itted  herself  rather  farther  than  she  intended,  hoping 
you'd  have  sense  enough  to  take  it  as  a  joke.  But 
you  didn't,  and  you  saw  at  the  last  how  she  was  in 
a  furious  hurry  to  get  rid  of  us.  I'll  bet  you'll  never 
have  so  much  as  an  answer  to  your  telegram." 

"Surely,   for  her  own  sake,   she  wouldn't "   I 

had  begun  desperately  to  protest,  when  Anne  cut  me 
short. 

"Wait,  my  child.  Let  me  tell  you  something  about 
Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton.     She's  the  daughter  of  an 


8o  MY    LADY   CINDERELLA 

Earl — Lord  Sandlej'',  who  was  always  going  in  for 
theatrical  speculations  on  a  tremendous  scale.  At  last 
he  was  ruined,  and  went  bankrupt,  or  something,  so 
that  Lady  Sophie,  who  was  a  girl  then,  found  her 
chances  of  marrying  well  in  danger  of  being  spoiled. 
She  hung  on  for  a  long  time,  and  didn't  *go  off' — 
those  are  the  words  of  one  of  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith's 
friends — till  at  last,  rather  than  be  an  old  maid,  she 
took  a  Mr.  de  Gretton,  who  came  of  a  good  family, 
but  had  very  little  mone3\  When  he  died,  about  ten 
or  a  dozen  years  ago,  she  was  left  poorly  off,  and  was 
at  her  wits'  ends  to  know  how  she  could  retain  her 
position  in  society.  She  had  a  house,  and  that  was 
about  all — nothing  to  keep  it  up  with.  However,  rhe 
got  on — and  do  you  want  to  know  how?" 

"Yes,"  I  returned  feebly. 

"Well,  she  began  to  be  famous  for  presenting  heir- 
esses from  America  or  the  provinces,  and  introducing 
them  to  her  set.  Generally  they  made  good  marriages, 
and  those  'in  the  know' — as  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith 
says  when  she  forgets  not  to  be  vulgar — are  certain 
that  she  got  at  least  a  thousand  pounds  a  season  for 
every  girl  she  presented,  sometimes  a  lot  more.  Now, 
if  that's  her  metier,  does  it  stand  to  reason  that  she 
would  hamper  herself  by  taking  you  about,  and  pay- 
ing for  every  dress  and  pair  of  shoes  you  had  to  your 
back?" 

"I  don't  wear  shoes  on  my  back,"  I  retorted  with 
some  asperity,  which  cloaked  dismay.  "Very  likely 
there  isn't  a  word  of  truth  in  all  this  gossip ;  and,  any 
way,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  yesterday?" 


THE  BENEFIT  OF  THE  DOUBT        8i 

^'Because  you  wouldn't  give  me  a  chance,  my  dear 
child.  Don't  you  think  I  saw  that  you  were  determined 
not  to  talk  of  her?  You  didn't  want  to  be  discour- 
aged, and  you  were  afraid  Fd  try  to  set  you  against 
her.  I  didn't  suppose  then  that  you'd  go  home  and 
break  off  with  Mrs.  East.  I  thought  that  by  the  time 
you  got  to  Peckham  you'd  begin  to  look  on  Lady 
Sophie's  wild  propositon  as  a  romantic  but  impossible 
dream.  Of  course,  if  she  were  a  very  rich  and  philan- 
thropic woman  she  might  really  be  contemplating  the 
idea  of  adopting  you  simply  because  she  saw  you  were 
so  beautiful  as  to  be  worthy  of  better  things.  But 
Fm  not  mistaken  in  the  main  facts  about  Lady  Sophie 
de  Gretton,  any  way,  and,  believe  me,  she's  not  the 
woman  to  be  capable  of  a  purely  unselfish  and  quixotic 
act." 

I  was  silent,  and,  Fm  afraid,  a  little  sulky;  for 
Anne's  words  had  buried  me  under  a  mountain  of 
depression. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  think  Fm  just  nasty  and 
jealous,"  Anne  went  on.  (I  would  never  have  dreamed 
of  fancying  her  so ;  it  seemed  odd  to  me  that  she  should 
suggest  such  an  idea.)  ''But  I  must  be  honest  for 
your  own  good,  and  say  that  if  you  expect  anything 
from  that  little  adventure  of  ours  in  the  Park  yes- 
terday you'll  be  laying  up  disappointment  for  yourself. 
Wire  Lady  Sophie  if  you  like;  but  I  advise  you  to 
write  at  the  same  time  to  Mrs.  East,  and  hint  that, 
if  she  cares  to  let  bygones  be  bygones,  you  might  be 
willing  to  go  back." 

"Whatever  happens,  I  won't  do  thktV  I  exclaimed 


82  MY    LADY   CINDERELLA 

emphatically.  "I  only  stayed  there  so  long  out  of  habit, 
I  think — a  habit  of  repression.  She  was  my  one  living 
relative,  though  a  distant  one;  and  as  I  went  to  her 
house  when  I  was  only  fourteen,  I  have  stupidly  grown 
up  taking  it  for  granted  that  I  must  remain  there.  Of 
course,  I'm  not  well-educated,  according  to  conven- 
tional ideas  of  a  girl's  education,  but  dear  mother  taught 
me  faithfully,  splendidly,  till  she  died,  and  I  have  read 
all  I  could  whenever  I  could  beg,  borrow,  or  buy  a 
book  worth  reading  since,  so  that  I  might  at 
least  hope  to  get  a  situation  as  nursery-governess.  I 
can  sing,  too.  You  know  what  a  glorious  voice 
mother  had,  and  what  pains  she  took  with  me. 
Even  though  I've  had  little  enough  chance  to  practise, 
I  might  get  taken  on  in  the  chorus  of  light 
opera " 

"Whatever  you  do,  don't  try  the  stage,  Con,"  said 
Anne,  ''You're  too  young,  too  lonely,  too  pretty,  and 
too  poor  for  that." 

"Well,"  I  cried  despairingly,  "for  the  present  I 
don't  trouble.  I  mean  to  give  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton 
the  benefit  of  the  doubt." 

"H'm!  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,"  incredulously 
echoed  Anne. 

Before  breakfast  Anne  and  I  went  out  together, 
walking  almost  in  silence  to  the  nearest  telegraph- 
office,  where  Anne's  shilling  paid  for  my  long  message 
to  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton. 

I  dreaded  the  meeting  with  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith, 
even  though  I  might  hope  for  countenance  from  my 
self-appointed  advocate,  Miss  Smith.     But  Anne  ex- 


THE  BENEFIT  OF  THE  DOUBT        83 

pressed  the  opinion  that  it  would  be  unwise  for  me 
to  absent  myself  from  the  breakfast  table. 

"Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  will  want  to  ask  questions," 
she  said,  ''and  if  you're  not  there  to  answer  them,  she'll 
think  there's  something  wrong.  For  my  sake,  if  not  for 
your  own,  you'd  better  face  the  music." 

I  faced  it.  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  did  ask  questions. 
Breakfast  consisted  of  questions  and  answers,  with  a 
little  tea  and  toast  thrown  in  out  of  charity  by  a 
footman,  who  scorned  my  blue  serge  with  a  scorn  even 
deeper  than  his  mistress's. 

Before  the  meal  was  over  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith 
knew  all  that  I  knew  about  my  future  prospects  with 
Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton;  how  her  drawing-room  was 
furnished,  what  she  had  worn,  and  what  she  had  given 
us  for  tea.  Anne  had  not  mentioned  the  adventure 
on  coming  home,  not  being  encouraged  to  private  con- 
fidences by  her  employer;  nevertheless,  Mrs.  Leatherby- 
Smith  chose  to  resent  her  secretary's  taciturnity  on  this 
occasion.  It  was  very  secretive  of  Anne  to  have  kept 
such  a  matter  to  herself. 

Of  course,  there  was  little  chance  that  Lady  Sophie 
would  really  answer  my  telegram  or  take  any  further 
notice  of  me  now  that  yesterday's  mood  had  had  time 
to  pass. 

In  fact,  though  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  refrained 
from  giving  such  a  reason,  the  truth  was  that  she  was 
pricked  to  curiosity.  She  desired  me  to  remain,  that 
she  might  know  without  delay  whether  I  were  to  be 
discarded  or  taken  up  by  so  important  a  personage  as 
Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton.     Though  she,  Mrs.  Leath- 


84  MY    LADY   CINDERELLA 

erby-Smith,  might  have  been  able  to  buy  and  sell  the 
Earl's  daughter — who  had  only  married  a  commoner, 
after  all — within  her  small  soul  she  knew  that  the  set 
in  which  Lady  Lady  Sophie  moved,  by  right  of  birth 
and  breeding  and  long  association,  was  as  far  beyond 
her  reach  as  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon. 

I  was  only  nineteen,  and  far  from  being  a  woman 
of  the  world,  but  I  was  shrevv'd  enough  to  guess  that 
Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  was  holding  me  in  her  hand, 
as  a  balance.  Down  I  would  go,  till  I  was  worth  my 
weight  in  gold,  if  Lady  Sophie  telegraphed  that  I  was 
to  repair  at  once,  anticipating  our  arrangement.  But, 
on  the  contrary,  were  Anne's  and  her  own  gloomy 
prophecies  fulfilled  by  silence  on  Lady  Sophie's  part,  I 
would  fly  up,  a  mere  feather-weight  in  Mrs.  Leatherby- 
Smith's  estimation — a  pitiful  feather,  to  be  blown  out 
of  doors,  whither  mattered  less  than  nothing. 

As  for  Miss  Smith,  she  was  in  a  different  mood  this 
morning:  thoughtful,  non-talkative,  willing  to  listen, 
but  inclined  to  say  little.  Breakfast  ought  not  to  be 
a  conversational  meal,  she  considered.  Afterwards, 
however,  while  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  and  Anne  were 
busy  with  letter-writing,  she  asked  me  to  hold  the  yarn 
for  her  knitting  as  she  wound  it ;  and  during  the  prog- 
ress of  the  task,  in  which  she  did  not  hurry,  I  thought 
she  endeavoured  to  help  me  forget  my  anxieties  by 
chatting  about  her  home  in  Dorsetshire,  her  cats,  her 
dogs  and  her  Brazilian  monkey. 

It  was  half-past  eight  when  I  had  sent  my  telegram, 
and  in  my  mind,  as  the  hours  passed  on,  there  was  a 
constant  undercurrent  of  calculation.     Suppose  it  had 


THE  BENEFIT  OF  THE  DOUBT        85 

been  delivered  in  Park  Lane  at  nine,  Lady  Sophie 
might  still  have  been  sleeping;  but  surely  she  would 
be  awake  by  ten.  If  she  sent  an  answer  off  at  once,  I 
ought  to  have  it  before  eleven. 

But  eleven  came  and  went,  and  though  I  had  started 
many  times,  thrilling  all  over  at  the  sound  of  the  door 
bell,  there  was  no  message  for  me.  At  twelve  Mrs. 
Leatherby-Smith  came  into  the  library,  where  her  sis- 
ter-in-law and  I  were  sitting,  to  insist  upon  Miss  Smith 
accompanying  her  on  a  shopping  expedition. 

"You  haven't  heard  from  Lady  Sophie  yet,  I  see," 
she  remarked  to  me  with  a  little  sneer.  "Oh,  well, 
you  can  stop  till  after  luncheon.  I  should  say  that  if 
three  o'clock  passed  without  your  hearing,  you  might 
as  well  give  up  hope.  By  the  way,  Mr.  Wynnstay, 
from  Holland  Park  Mansions,  has  been  in  to  inquire 
after  your  health.  I  understood  from  Miss  Bryden 
that  you  had  been  there  by  mistake,  and  he  had  brought 
you  to  my  house,  supposing  I  was  away  for  the  night. 
I  don't  know^  how  he  came  to  fancy  that  from  what 
I  said  when  I  happened  to  meet  him  yesterday  after- 
noon ;  however,  that's  not  the  question  now.  Why  was 
I  not  told  that  you  were  taken  ill  and  fainted  at  the 
Mansions  ?" 

"I  thought  it  of  so  little  consequence  to  you,"  I 
excused  myself. 

"It  was  rather  peculiar.  It  ought  to  have  been  men- 
tioned. Mr.  Wynnstay's  account  of  the  matter  quite 
took  me  by  surprise.  He  is  an  extremely  able  man — 
some  friends  have  lately  recommended  me  to  employ 
him  as  my  solicitor — and  most  benevolent  as  well.    He 


86  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

requested  particularly  that  I  should  let  him  know 
how  you  got  on,  and  I  would  have  told  him  of  your 
hopes  from  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton,  had  it  not  oc- 
curred to  me  that  it  would  be  rather  premature  to 
do  that.  He  might  laugh  in  his  sleeve  at  me  to-morrow, 
if  I  had  seemed  to  believe  for  a  moment  that  she 
would  keep  her  word.  Solicitors  know  the  world  so 
well!" 

"If  Lady  Sophie  should  send  for  me,  please  don't 
tell  Mr.  Wynnstay,"  I  pleaded.  **You  see,  she  might 
not  like  the  circumstances  discussed,  and  would  be  dis- 
pleased with  any  gossip  about  me." 

**You  may  be  sure  I  would  do  nothing  which  could 
possibly  offend  Lady  Sophie,  if  you  should  go  to  her," 
said  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith,  visibly  bridling;  "though 
it's  too  late  for  there  to  be  much  chance  of  that  now." 

Breakfast  was  the  only  meal  which  Anne  Bi-yden 
ate  with  her  employer.  Her  luncheon  was  served  in 
the  room  where  she  and  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  at- 
tended to  the  latter's  correspondence,  and  we  shared  it 
to-day.  There  was  but  a  scant  supply  for  two  healthy 
young  women ;  fortunately  for  Anne,  however,  a  chok- 
ing sensation  in  my  throat  prevented  me  from  eating. 
It  was  half-past  one,  and  there  was  still  no  word  from 
Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton.  Hope  died  hard  in  my  heart, 
but  it  was  dying  now. 

Luncheon  for  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  and  her  guest 
was  at  two,  and  they  returned  just  in  time  for  it,  inter- 
rupting our  humble  meal  to  inquire  if  I  had  had  a 
telegram.  No?  Ah,  well,  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  had 
told  me  so.     "Put  not  your  trust  in  princes."     That 


THE  BENEFIT  OF  THE  DOUBT       87 

was  a  good  text  to  remember  in  such  circumstances  as 
mine.  What  did  I  now  intend  to  do? 

I  had  hardly  decided.  Anne  had  lent  me  a  sovereign, 
and  had  given  me  the  address  of  an  employment  agency 
to  which  she  thought  I  might  apply.  But  would  Mrs. 
Leatherby-Smith  be  willing  to  let  me  stop  an  hour  or 
two  longer  ?    It  was  just  possible  that  even  yet 

"Of  course  you're  willing — eh,  Caroline?"  prompted 
Miss  Smith. 

And,  having  followed  her  sister-in-law's  lead  with  a 
comparatively  good  grace,  the  mistress  of  the  house  and 
her  visitor  left  us  in  peace  while  they  went  down  to 
luncheon. 

Three  o'clock,  and  still  no  message.  I  no  longer 
hoped  now,  and,  deeply  chagrined,  deeply  humiliated,  I 
was  in  Anne's  room,  putting  on  my  hat,  when  The- 
rese  came  to  summon  me  to  the  drawing-room. 

Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  and  Miss  Smith  were  going 
out  for  a  drive  in  the  Park.  They  would  be  gone  all 
the  afternoon  till  time  to  return  and  dress  for  dinner, 
and  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  had  some  instructions  for 
Miss  Bryden  to  carry  out  during  her  absence.  She 
also  wished  to  see  Miss  Brand,  who  would  doubtless 
have  taken  her  departure  before  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith 
should  come  home. 

So  here  was  an  end  of  it  all.  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith, 
despite  her  ill-nature  and  pompousness,  was  quite  right, 
I  struggled  to  assure  myself.  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton 
had  thrown  me  over — ^whistled  me  down  the  wind — 
and  as  it  was  now  useless  to  expect  a  telegram,  there 
was  ne  longer  anything  to  keep  from  me. 


88  MY    LADY   CINDERELLA 

The  sooner  I  left  this  house,  the  better  for  everyone 
concerned;  and  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smlth  was  not  to  be 
blamed  for  hurrying  me,  as  she  could  not  have  known 
that  her  hints  would  not  be  needed — that  I  was  already 
preparing  to  rid  her  of  my  presence  without  the  goad 
of  her  urgings. 

Anne  had  not  been  as  sympathetic  last  night  and  early 
this  morning,  while  I  still  had  hope,  as  I  had  usually 
found  her;  but  now  that  there  was  no  more  chance 
of  my  visit  to  Lady  Sophie,  my  meeting  with  beautiful 
girls  in  pink  muslin  and  soldierly  young  men  with  clear- 
cut,  brown  faces,  she  was  kind,  as  of  old.  We  went 
downstairs  hand-in-hand,  Anne  to  learn  in  the  drawing- 
room  what  work  was  expected  of  her  in  the  afternoon, 
I  that  my  misfortunes  might  be  exulted  over. 

"Of  course,  the  idea  was  quite  ridiculous  from  the 
first,"  said  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith.  "I  trust  it  may  be 
a  lesson  to  your  pride,  Miss  Brand.  There  is  that 
to  be  thankful  for;  and  then,  you  have  certainly  had 
a  night  and  nearly  a  whole  day  of  such  comfort  and 
— er — luxury  as  you  would  not  have  been  able  to  enjoy 
if  your  curious  adventure  had  riot  led  you  to  leave 
home.  I  hope.  Miss  Brand,  that  you  will  find  a  situa- 
tion without  too  much  difficulty.  And  now  we  must 
bid  you  good-daj^" 

"Good-day — and  thank  you,"  I  echoed  dolefully. 

She  did  not  offer  her  hand. 

"Good-bye,  Miss  Smith." 

Out  came  a  bright  yellow  glove,  half  an  inch  too 
long  in  the  fingers. 

"Look    here,    my    dear,"    exclaimed    the    old    lady 


THE  BENEFIT  OF  THE  DOUDT       89 

briskly:  "I  haven't  been  saying  much  to-day,  but  I've 
been  thinking  a  good  bit.  And  before  I  bid  you  good- 
bye— or  get  off  those  queer  words  the  French  use  when 
they  mean  'till  we  meet  again' — I've  got  a  proposal 
to  make  to  you." 

As  she  spoke,  and  I  looked  at  her  questioningly, 
there  came  a  ring  at  the  front-door — an  imperious  rap- 
ping of  the  knocker. 

'Tady  Sophie  de  Gretton,"  solemnly  remarked 
Thomas. 

The  announcement,  the  lady's  entrance,  swept  over 
us  like  a  wave.  At  its  ebb,  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  was 
mentally  prostrate  on  the  sands  of  surprise;  I,  pale  but 
exultant;  Anne  and  Miss  Smith,  the  only  members 
of  the  little  company  not  cast  high  and  dry,  their  out- 
works shattered. 

"How  de  do,  my  dear,"  inquired  Lady  Sophie  with 
comforting  commonplaceness,  taking  my  hand  in  a 
pearl  suede  palm,  and  giving  it,  in  an  easily  uncon- 
scious manner,  the  very  latest  thing  in  shakes."  I  came 
the  moment  I  could  after  finding  your  wire.  So  glad 
to  get  you  a  day  or  two  sooner  than  we  expected." 

She  glanced  toward  the  two  elder  women,  one  of 
whom  was  presumably  my  hostess.  I  murmured  some- 
thing, and  Lady  Sophie  responded  with  a  careless  court- 
esy which,  despite  its  affability,  somehow^  contrived  to 
place  the  gorgeous  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  and  her  good 
sister-in-law  on  a  plane  as  far  removed  from  her  own 
as  Saturn's  from  the  earth. 

It  was  the  sort  of  thing  to  which  one  must  be  born, 
since  it  could  not  be  achieved  by  practice ;  but  my  mali- 


90  MY    LADY   CINDERELLA 

cious  imagination  painted  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smlth  assid- 
uously cultivating  it  in  future  for  the  undoing  of  her 
best-hated  friends. 

"So  kind  of  you  to  be  nice  to  the  litle  girl,  and 
to  keep  her  for  me,  Mrs.  L — er — Leatherby-Smith," 
Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton  went  on,  with  the  air  of  one 
graciously  accepting  a  personal  favour,  as  she  patted 
the  back  of  my  hand,  which  instinctively  clung  to  hers. 

'*Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith  didn't  think  you  would 
remember  me.  I  was  just  going  away,"  I  could  not 
resist  the  temptation  of  saying. 

My  hostess,  who  had  been  on  the  point  of  an  eager 
response,  visibly  wilted;  and  I  repented  my  vengeful- 
ness ;  for,  after  all,  I  had  eaten  of  her  bread  and  saltc 


CHAPTER  X 

I    UNDERSTUDY   CINDERELLA 

Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton  turned  her  attention  ex- 
clusively to  me,  appearing  not  to  hear  Mrs.  Leatherby- 
Smith's  pathetically  expressed  hope  that  she  would  sit 
down,  keeping  us  therefore  all  standing — with  the 
exception  of  Miss  Smith. 

I  suppose  Miss  Smith  would  have  stood  for  the 
Queen,  but  she  certainly  did  not  see  the  necessity  of 
doing  so  for  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton,  even  though  this 
was  the  first  "title"  that  had  ever  entered  her  sister- 
in-law's  doors. 

"As  bad  luck  would  have  it,"  Lady  Sophie  was  say- 
ing, "I  had  an  'early  whim'  this  morning.  It  was 
going  to  be  a  very  busy  day,  and  something  waked 
me  at  seven — so,  as  I  couldn't  sleep  again,  I  break- 
fasted in  my  room  before  eight,  and  was  out  of  the 
house  by  half-past.  I  accomplished  a  siege  of  fitting 
at  the  dressmaker's,  a  massage  woman  who  is  such  a 
brute  that  she  won't  come  to  one's  house,  three  sales 
and  a  charity  visit,  got  home  to  luncheon  at  two,  found 
your  wire,  and — here  I  am.  You  and  I  have  oceans 
to  do  before  Lady  Dunbar's  ball  to-night" — I  could 
almost  feel  the  thrill  that  went  through  Mrs.  Leath- 
erby-Smith's  ample  person  at  this  magnificent  an- 
nouncement— "oh,  you're   going,   of  course;   I've  ar- 

91 


92  MY   LADY   CINDERELLA 

ranged  all  that.  So  now,  I  think,  if  j'ou  are  ready, 
my  child,  we  had  better  be  off." 

"I  am  quite  ready,"  I  answered  with  alacrity.  And 
then  I  turned  to  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith.  "Thank  you 
for  your  kindness  in  letting  me  stop,"  I  said,  as  little 
stiffly  as  I  could. 

She  took  my  hand  and  pressed  it  between  her  two 
large  ones,  in  the  clasp  of  which  it  temporarily  disap- 
peared, as  Jonah  disappeared  in  the  jaws  of  the  whale. 

"It  has  been  a  pleasure,  I  assure  you,"  she  ejaculated, 
having  the  grace  to  turn  a  deep,  beet  red.  "If  I  have 
been  able  to  do  you  a  slight  kindness,  dear  Miss  Brand" 
— how  well  she  remembered  my  name,  of  a  sudden! 
— "you  can  more  than  return  it  by  coming  to  see  us 
sometimes.  Miss  Bryden  and  me,  to  tell  us  all  about 
your  gay  doings.  Of  course,  we  shall  probably  meet 
at  the  houses  of  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton's  friends" — 
Lady  Sophie's  face  doubted  this  supposition — "but  that 
is  different.  Drop  in  to  lunch  or  tea  whenever  you 
like;  you'll  aWays  be  welcome,  and — it  would  be  a 
great  pleasure  to  me  if  Lady  Sophie  found  time  to 
come  with  you." 

"So  kind  of  you,"  breathed  Lady  Sophie,  gazing  out 
of  the  window. 

"And  I  am  thinking  of  giving  a  little  dinner-party 
before  Ascot.  I  shall  send  you  both  invitations. 
There  will  be  some  very  distinguished  people.  No 
doubt.  Lady  Sophie,  you  will  know  most  of  them.  If 
you — if  you  are  disengaged — indeed,  any  evening  you 
should  be  free,  if  you  would  name  it — the  invitations 
are  not  yet  out — I " 


I  UNDERSTUDY  CINDERELLA         93 

"Thank  you  so  much;  quite  charming  of  you.  But 
unfortunately  Fm  such  a  busy  woman.  I'm  afraid 
there's  something  on  for  every  night  till  Henley;  and, 
of  course,  this  dear  child  will  go  everjm^here  with  me. 
Later,  perhaps — ah,  yes,  very  pleased.  Good-bye."  A 
hand-shake  which  made  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith's  valued 
pump-handle  affectation  appear  antediluvian. 

I  had  gone  to  Miss  Smith. 

"You  were  very,  very  kind  to  me,"  I  said  gratefully. 
"I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you  enough.  I  hardly 
see  what  I  should  have  done  last  night  if  you  hadn't 
been  so  good." 

"I  liked  you,"  brusquely  responded  the  spinster. 
"I've  generally  found,  in  spite  of  all  nonsense  to  the 
contrary,  that  pretty  girls  are  better  inside  as  well  as 
out  than  ugly  ones,  A  beautiful  soul  oozes  through 
the  pores,  so  to  speak,  and  naturally  the  face  is  beau- 
tiful too.  That's  why  I'm  drawn  to  handsome  people. 
And  look  here" — she  spoke  with  purposeful  distinct- 
ness which  attracted  Lady  Sophie's  eyes  and  ears — 
"things  seem  to  be  turning  out  all  right  for  you;  but 
you  don't  know  how  the  story'U  end  yet.  If  you  ever 
need  a  friend,  here's  my  address."  She  took  an  old- 
fashioned  glazed  visiting-card  from  her  case.  "Don't 
forget  it,  and  understand  that  I  shan't  forget  you,  or 
the  welcome  I  promise  you  if  you  should  want  it.  I'm 
a  plain  woman ;  I  hardly  know  what  Park  Lane  looks 
like,  and  I  can't  take  you  to  any  balls  nor  to  Henley; 
but  bread's  as  good  as  cake  when  your  stomach's  empty, 
my  dear.  Good-bye,  and  good  luck.  I  don't  grudge 
you  all  the  fun  you  can  get ;  I  was  young  once." 


94  MY    LADY    CINDERELLA 

I  thanked  her  genuinely,  and  put  the  quaint  piece 
of  pasteboard  away  In  my  shabby  purse  as  she  watched 
me.  But  my  heart  was  h"ght,  and  anticipations  of  a 
wonderful  future  frothed  in  my  head  like  champagne. 
I  did  not  dream  that  I  would  ever  care  to  look  at  Miss 
Smith's  visiting  card  again,  save  as  a  souvenir  of  a 
stranger's  kindness.  But  queer  combinations  are 
shuffled  with  the  cards  of  Fate. 

Anne  and  I  bade  each  other  farewell,  and  a  lukewarm 
Invitation  that  she  would  lunch  with  me  some  day 
was  understood  to  have  dropped  from  Lady  Sophie's 
lips.    I  was  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  my  patroness. 

Why  did  she  desire  my  companionship,  "my  dear" 
me,  and  pat  my  hand  with  the  right  glove  of  friendship, 
while  putting  Anne  Bryden — who  was  at  least  as 
highly  placed,  socially,  as  I — politely  behind  the  pale? 
The  subtle  differences  In  her  manner  formed  part  of 
the  mystery,  and,  even  while  I  resented  them,  captured 
my  imagination. 

I  wanted  to  know — there  was  scarcely  anything  that 
I  did  not  want  to  know;  and  I  looked  forward  with 
boundless  curiosity,  boundless  Interest,  to  the  rising 
of  the  curtain  on  the  first  act  of  my  new  life. 

A  smart  little  brougham  waited  w^Ith  conscious  su- 
periority at  the  gate.  There  was  a  dignified  coachman, 
and  the  groom  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to 
the  footman  who  had  admitted  me  yesterday  to 
fairyland. 

For  nineteen  years,  and  up  to  this  moment,  I  had 
considered  a  hansom  cab  the  height  of  luxury,  splendid, 
but  unobtainable;  yet  curiously  enough  I   now  sank 


I  UNDERSTUDY  CINDERELLA         95 

back  on  olive  green  satin  cushions  with  a  peaceful  sense 
of  being  in  my  natural  element. 

"This  is  a  victoria  day — far  too  hot  for  a  broug- 
ham," observed  Lady  Sophia.  "But  I  am  a  very  poor 
woman,  my  child,  and  have  to  make  up  for  poverty 
by  preternatural  shrewdness.  If  you  can  only  possess 
one  vehicle,  let  it  be  a  brougham,  practicable  though 
not  pleasant  for  all  weathers ;  and  a  have  a  pair  of  foot- 
men who  will  submit,  by  a  lightning  change,  to  trans- 
form themselves  into  coachman  and  groom — one  gawky 
youth  in  livery  left  at  home  to  answer  the  bell  and 
be  bullied  by  the  cook.  No  one  except  a  very  clever 
woman  could  drive  such  a  four-in-hand,  I  assure  you, 
my  dear;  but  the  exigencies  of  my  life  have  superin- 
duced cleverness.  I  hope  you  won't  need  to  cultivate 
it;  it  is  very  wearing,  and  makes  wrinkles.  The 
recipe  for  retaining  an  agreeable  dulness  is — 
to  marry  a  rich  man.  This  I  am  going  to  lead  in- 
sensibly up  to  your  doing  by  driving  at  once  to  Wool- 
land's." 

I  laughed :  "I  don't  see  the  connection." 

"No?  That  is  very  pretty  and  innocent  of  you.  But 
do  you  realize  that,  as  it  is  now  four  o'clock,  we 
have  exactly  three  hours  in  which  to  turn  a — I  beg 
your  pardon,  my  dear — the  prettiest  of  Cinderellas  into 
a  princess?" 

"I  knew  you  had  a  wand,"  I  ejaculated. 

Lady  Sophie  held  up  a  dove-coloured  purse  that 
matched  her  dress. 

"And  here  it  is — the  wand  that  wields  a  magic  sway 
over  the  whole  world." 


96  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

I  felt  my  cheeks  burn,  for  I  had  not  understood  her 
whole  meaning  before. 

"Oh!"  I  stammered.  "You  are  very  good,  but — but 
I  couldn't  let  you ;  I " 

To  my  surprise — for  she  was  not  a  woman  to  blush 
easily — Lady  Sophie  changed  colour,  and  looked  oddly 
conscience-stricken. 

"Don't  be  too  grateful,"  she  broke  in  abruptly. 
"What  I  shall  do  for  you  Is  nothing,  really — only  a 
pleasure.  Please  believe  that  always,  whatever  may 
happen  in  future,  whatever  people  may  say  to  you  of 
me.  I  am  happy  to-day,  and  It  is  you  who  have  made 
me  so.  This — this  episode  brings  a  certain  spice  Into 
my  life,  and — I  am  truly  your  friend.  You  can  take 
everything  which  you  and  I  will  buy  to-day  with  a 
light  heart." 

"But,"  I  ventured,  fearing  to  be  rude,  yet  not  quite 
satisfied,  "you  said  just  now  you  were  a  poor  woman, 
and " 

"I  am  seldom  too  poor  to  Indulge  myself.  I  only 
economize  In  necessaries,  not  luxuries,  which  are  too 
interesting  to  deny  one's  self." 

Her  words  were  m.erry,  yet  her  expression  was  wor- 
ried, and  there  was  a  little  nervous  line  between  her 
keen  eyes.  She  was  concealing  something  from  me,  I 
knew ;  but  even  If  I  Vv'ould  have  questioned  her  I  could 
not.  The  brougham  had  drawn  up  before  WooUand's, 
and  the  footman-groom  was  opening  the  door. 

During  the  next  three  hours  I  felt  more  than  ever 
like  the  creature  of  a  dream.  I,  who  had  endured  the 
gift  of  two  second-hand  dresses  from  Mrs.  East  in  the 


I  UNDERSTUDY  CINDERELLA         97 

course  of  each  year,  and  been  conventionally  thankful ; 
I,  who  had  worn  stays  bought  in  a  Peckham  sale  for 
two  shillings  and  threepence-halfpenny,  stockings  that 
came  off  brown  on  my  feet,  and  pink  flannelette 
petticoats ! 

I,  who  had  survived  these  experiences,  suddenly  to 
find  m.yself  let  loose  among  lingerie  of  pale  tinted  silk 
and  laced  cambric,  shoes  far  superior  to  the  famous 
glass  slippers,  cobwebby  silken  hose,  petticoats  that 
might  have  been  ball-dresses,  hats  that  framed  my 
face  as  if  it  had  been  a  picture,  and  last, 
but  by  no  means  least,  frocks  beyond  dreams  dreamed 
in  Peckham. 

"Of  course,  these  gowns  are  only  ready-made  make- 
shifts," explained  Lady  Sophie;  "but  they  will  serve 
you  until  you  have  something  better,  and  it's  fortunate 
that  you  have  such  an  easy  figure  to  fit,  or  we  should 
have  been  in  a  fidget  about  to-night." 

"Am  I  actually  going  to  a  ball  with  you?"  I  ques- 
tioned dazedly.     "But  I  can't  have  been  invited." 

"I  sent  a  note  to  Lady  Dunbar  after  luncheon, 
before  I  started  out  to  find  you,  asking  if  I  might 
bring  a  young  friend  who  was  unexpectedly  coming  to 
stay  with  me ;  and,  of  course,  she  will  answer  that  she's 
delighted.  There'll  be  a  note  waiting  for  me  when 
we  get  home.  And  speaking  of  home,  it  is  quite  time 
we  started.  I  think  we  have  everything  that's  abso- 
lutely essential,  and  it  is  nearly  seven  o'clock.  Din- 
ner's at  nine — just  you  and  I  alone  (I  got  out  of  a 
stupid  engagement  with  an  old  friend),  and  you  ought 
to  have  an  hour's  rest.     I  want  you  to  be  fit  and  fresh, 


98  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

for  I'm  counting  on  your  first  appearance  to  be  a  great 
success." 

I  had  never  been  to  a  dance  In  my  life. 

"Suppose,"  I  ventured,  when  w^e  were  rolling  to- 
ward Park  Lane  in  the  brougham,  "that  I  should  do 
something  clumsy,  and — and  disgrace  myself?" 

"You  are  a  lady,  my  dear.  No  woman,  be  she 
duchess  or  queen,  can  be  more.  Don't  think  I've 
embarked  upon  this  experiment  without  studying  your 
accent  and  your  manners,  for  my  reputation  is  at  stake 
in  a  certain  quarter." 

"I  wonder  what  you  mean?"  I  pondered  aloud. 

"Don't  wonder;  there's  no  time  for  wondering.  I 
forgot  to  ask — but  you  look  as  if  you  knew  how  to 
dance.     It's  decidedly  important  for  a  debutante." 

"My  mother  was  an  exquisite  dancer,"  I  answered 
rather  proudly.  "She  taught  me,  because  she  used  to 
say  that,  even  if  I  never  needed  it  as  an  accomplish- 
ment, it  would  make  me  easy  and  graceful.  I  don't 
know  if  it  has;  but  I  can  dance  well — all  except  the 
new-fashioned  things  w^hich  have  come  in  since  then." 

"Good.  My  mind's  relieved.  Some  day  you  must 
tell  me  anything  you  are  willing  to  tell  about  your 
mother,  your  past,  and  your  life  in — Peckham,  I  think 
you  said?  But  now  we  have  other  matters  to  occupy 
our  minds.  My  dear  girl — I  shall  call  you  Consuelo — 
do  you  realize  that  a  great  deal  depends  upon  to- 
night?" 

I  gazed  at  her,  frightened.  We  were  just  driving 
into  Park  Lane. 

"Luckily,"  she  went  on,   almost  as  if  speaking  to 


I  UNDERSTUDY  CINDERELLA         99 

herself,  "the  last  Drawing-room  of  the  season  is  over, 
so  that  there  is  the  best  of  excuses  for  not  presenting 
you.  Otherwise  it  would  have  been  awkward,  for 
such  searching  questions  are  asked,  and  if  they  can't 
be  satisfactorily  answered,  there's  an  end.  As  it  is, 
there  are  no  obstacles  in  your  way,  and  you  have  the 
ball  at  your  feet — for  with  a  girl  as  pretty  as  you  are, 
plenty  of  men — men  worth  having,  too — care  nothing 
about  a  dot.  You  must  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines; 
and,  by  a  natural  phenomenon,  the  sun  will  begin  shin- 
ing to-night.  Trust  me  for  facing  you  the  right  way 
at  the  start,  and — here  we  are  at  home." 

Such  things  as  I  was  to  wear  at  the  ball  we  had 
prudently  brought  with  us  in  the  carriage,  and  the 
*'gawky  youth"  of  whom  Lady  Sophie  had  spoken  (he 
seemed  rather  a  splendid  person  to  me)  assisted  a 
French  maid  in  carrying  the  various  parcels  to  my 
room. 

And  what  a  delicious  room  it  was !  I  had  never  seen 
anything  like  it,  and  I  could  hardly  believe  that  I  was 
to  occupy  it  during  the  vaguely  indefinite  elysium  of  my 
visit  in  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton's  house.  No  greater 
contrast  could  be  imagined  between  its  lovers'-knotted, 
convolvulus-wreathed  chintzes,  its  water-color  sketches, 
its  bookshelves,  its  dainty  silver-spread  dressing-table 
and  mirrors,  and  the  grim,  brown,  dingy  space  between 
four  uncompromising  walls  that  I  had  shared  with  the 
children  of  Mrs.  East. 

I  splashed  in  a  bath-room  adjoining  my  own  room; 
I  was  clad  in  silk  and  lace  and  nainsook;  a  blue  robe 
de  chambre  was  slipped  on  by  the  smiling  Adele;  I 


loo  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

reposed  on  frilled  pillows  scented  with  lavender,  and 
arose  refreshed,  though  I  had  been  too  excited  to  sleep. 

While  I  rested  my  hostess  had  been  coifed,  and  she 
was  free  to  superintend  Ade]#ie- manipulations  of  my 
gold-brown  curly  mop.  The  French  maid  had  her  will 
of  me  at  first,  and  decorated  me  seriously,  as  if  I  had 
been  a  church  on  the  eve  of  a  feast-day;  but  when  she 
had  finished.  Lady  Sophie  impatiently  bade  her  undo 
the  elaborate  work. 

''After  all.  Miss  Brand's  own  way  is  best,"  she  de- 
cided. ''She  m.ust  be  regarded  as  a  picture,  I  find, 
never  as  a  fashion  plate.  She  has  her  own  striking, 
original  st3de,  and  those  loose  natural  waves,  with  the 
careless  knot,  and  a  curl  escaping  here  and  there  over 
the  forehead,  are  more  in  keeping." 

I  was  thus  saved  forever  from  undulations  and  com- 
plicated unspeakabilities. 

We  dined  in  tea-gowns — I  in  a  smart  new  one ;  and 
afterwards  there  was  the  ball-dress  to  be  put  on.  It 
was  all  white,  and  it  sparkled ;  when  I  moved  it  looked 
like  the  spray  of  a  waterfall  that  glistened  in  moon- 
light; and  from  beneath,  with  each  step  I  took,  there 
was  a  rainbow  flash  from  the  buckles  on  little  white 
satin  slippers. 

"You  will  do,"  Lady  Sophie  pronounced;  and  she 
laid  down  a  string  of  pearls  she  had  held  up  to  my 
throat.  "Such  a  neck  as  yours  was  not  meant  to  have 
its  line  broken  by  paltry  jewelery.  It's  like  swan's- 
down.  What  lashes  those  long  violet  eyes  of  yours  are 
blessed  with,  child!  Your  enemies  might  think  you 
darkened  them  and  your  eyebrows,  they  are  in  such 


I  UNDERSTUDY  CINpERELLA        lo'i 

contrast  to  your  bright  hair; 'but  I  knowbetter.  That's 
right,  blush — it's  very  becoming,  and  1  hope  you  won't 
get  out  of  the  habit.  Now,  Adele,  her  cloak.  It's  nearly 
eleven;  I  think  we  might  be  starting,  for  Lady  Dun- 
bar lives  in  Cleveland  Square." 

"By  the  way,"  she  said,  speaking  suddenly  out  of  a 
reverie,  when  we  were  once  more  in  the  brougham, 
"do  you  remember,  before  I  spoke  to  you  in  the  Park, 
admiring  a  handsome  girl  in  pink  muslin,  and  wish- 
ing that  your  lot  in  life  might  be  like  hers,  even  if 
it  were  but  for  a  single  month?" 
"Yes,"  I  answered  expectantly. 
"Well,  she's  Miss  Dunbar — the  'Honourable  Diana* 
she's  a  right  to  have  her  letters  addressed — and  it's 
to  her  mother's  house  we're  going  to-night." 
I  sat  up  excitedly. 

"Oh,  Lady  Sophie,  how  strange — how  very  strange!" 
"Do  you  think  so?  I  fail  to  see  why." 
"But  you  don't  know  all.  They,  Miss  Dunbar  and 
her  mother,  didn't  see  me  that  time  in  the  Park,  but 
afterwards,  when  Anne  and  I  had  left  your  house  and 
were  waiting  for  an  omnibus,  their  victoria  passed 
through  Hamilton  Place." 

I  went  eagerly  on,  and  did  not  cease  until  I  had 
told  the  story  of  the  chase  to  Peckham,  and  the  tele- 
gram that  had  been  sent  before  I  lost  sight  of  the  vic- 
toria and  its  occupants.  Lady  Sophie  paid  me  the 
compliment  of  listening  thoughtfully. 

"How  exceedingly  odd!"  she  commented.  "Of 
course,  there  might  have  been  nothing  in  it;  indeed, 
I  don't  exactly  see  what  there  could  be;  but  certainly, 


I02  MY  LAP\   CINDERELLA 

on  the  ,^acc  of  i^,  fhe  thing  looks  mysterious.  What 
could  have  taken  Lady  Dunbar  down  to  Peckham, 
unless  she  were  following  you?  She's  a  peculiar 
woman,  but  not  as  peculiar  as  that." 

This  unconscious  criticism  of  the  neighbourhood 
struck  my  sense  of  humour,  and  I  laughed.  But  I  did 
not  mention  the  supposition  that  had  been  in  my  mind, 
because  for  some  reason,  which  I  hardly  analyzed,  I 
did  not  wish  to  speak  of  Sir  George  Seaforth.  I  knew 
that,  as  the  vision  in  pink  was  Miss  Dunbar,  my  eluci- 
dation of  the  puzzle  had  gone  wrong,  and  I  was  cur- 
iously glad ;  but  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  utter  his 
name  in  my  present  mood. 

My  heart  was  beating  very  fast,  when  the  brougham 
stopped  before  an  awning  and  a  long  path  of  crimson 
cloth.  I  think  a  young,  untried  soldier,  about  to  fight 
his  first  battle,  must  feel  somewhat  as  I  did  at  that 
moment. 

A  knot  of  curious,  shabbily-clad  folk  crowded  as 
near  the  crimson  path  as  a  big  policeman  would  let 
them.  I  saw^  girls  dressed  much  as  I  had  been,  before 
the  touch  of  the  magic  wand,  and  a  queer  little  thrill 
went  through  me,  under  their  frankly  admiring  gaze. 
What  was  I  that  I  should  be  here,  in  satin  and  film 
of  chiffon,  while  they  were  there,  in  sordid,  undistin- 
guishable  stuff  ? 

What  would  they  think  if  they  knew  that  I  was 
more  nearly  akin  to  them  than  to  the  other  radiant 
butterflies  that  flitted  before  me  and  followed  behind? 
Would  they  still  good-naturedly  envy  me,  as  they  did 
now,  or  would  they,  with  a  clearer  vision  than  had 


I  UNDERSTUDY  CINDERELLA        103 

been  granted  me,  behold  a  dark  precipice  over  which  I 
trifled,  unawares? 

Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton's  little  house  in  Park  Lane 
was  daintily  pretty ;  Lady  Dunbar's  big  house  in  Cleve- 
land Square  was  magnificent.  Having  passed  through 
a  vestibule,  and  taken  off  our  cloaks  in*  a  room  that 
appeared  to  be  all  mirrors,  we  came  out  into  a  great 
hall,  marvellous  with  mellow^  pictures  and  tapestries, 
brilliant  with  hundreds  of  wax  candles  in  old-fashioned 
crystal  chandeliers,  and  having  a  wide  marble  staircase 
that  wound  up  to  regions  yet  unseen. 

I  thought  of  Burne- Jones's  "Golden  Stair,"  a  copy 
of  which  I  had  once  seen  and  never  forgotten,  for  up 
and  down  moved  figures  bright  and  fair  as  angels. 
Among  so  many  beautiful  women,  what  was  I  ?  Even 
the  men  here  were  gorgeous  in  uniforms,  or  with  orders 
shining  on  ribbons  that  crossed  the  severe  black  and 
white  of  their  evening  dress.  There  was  at  least  one 
Indian  potentate,  in  native  splendour,  with  a  turban 
that  blazed  with  diamonds ;  but  nowhere  did  I  see  the 
hostess  or  her  pretty  daughter. 

I  longed  for,  yet  dreaded  the  moment.  If  I  were 
right,  and  Lady  Dunbar  had  been  actually  moved  to 
emotion  by  the  sight  of  my  face  as  she  passed  it  in 
the  street,  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  she  w^ould 
be  far  more  moved  at  beholding  me  under  her  own 
roof,  dressed,  not  merely  clothed,  civilized,  chaperoned. 
I  stepped  to  distant  music ;  I  felt  that  I  was  to  be  lead- 
ing lady  in  the  drama  about  to  begin. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE    FIRST   ACT   OF   THE    PLAY 

We  fought  our  way  upstairs,  but  somehow  we  still 
missed  the  hostess.  Later  I  was  to  guess  why.  At  the 
top  Lady  Sophie  met  a  number  of  people  whom  she 
knew,  and,  having  something  to  say  to  .  her  friends, 
listened  to  a  murmured  request  from  a  young  Guards- 
man, all  moustache  and  monocle.  What  he  said  I  could 
not  hear,  but  an  introduction  to  me  presently  followed, 
and  I  was  borne  away  for  a  dance. 

We  had  a  waltz  in  a  large  ballroom,  with  a  floor 
which  I  agreed  with  my  partner  in  thinking  "heav- 
enly," and  then,  as  my  idea  of  making  conversation 
had  produced  the  remark  that  the  night  was  very  warm, 
he  proposed  that  we  should  seek  a  certain  cool  nook 
known  to  him  of  old. 

"Sit  out  the  next  with  me  and  have  an  ice,  won't 
you?"  he  suggested.  "Yon  don't  know  what  a  jolly 
place  I'm  going  to  take  you  to.  Miss  Dunbar  says 
Lady  Dunbar  always  gives  orders  to  have  it  locked 
before  a  ball  or  dance,  as  for  some  reason  or  other  she 
doesn't  care  to  have  people  going  there ;  but  Miss  Dun- 
bar, who  is  no  end  of  a  rippin'  girl,  has  bribed  a  servant 
to  leave  the  door  open." 

"Perhaps  we  oughtn't "  I  meekly  began,  in  my 

104 


THE  FIRST  ACT  OF  THE  PLAY      105 

ignorance  that  the  rule  of  really  "smart"  society  is  to 
do  what  one  likes  without  regard  to  the  feelings  of 
anyone  else;  but  Captain  Weyland  hastened  to  cut 
me  short. 

^'Rather!  You  just  trust  me  to  look  after  you,  Miss 
Brand.     It  will  be  all  right." 

''But  won't  Lady  Sophie  be  expecting  me  to  come 
back  at  the  end  of  the  dance?"  I  uncomfortably 
pleaded. 

"Not  she!   She's  too  awfully  rippin'.   Come  along." 

And  I  went. 

We  walked  down  the  length  of  a  corridor,  up  some 
steps,  into  a  room,  and  on  until  we  reached  an  odd 
but  beautiful  space  that  looked  down  into  a  courtyard 
below,  filled  with  flowers.  It  appeared  to  be  a  com- 
bination of  conservatory,  aviary,  and  boudoir;  and  I 
could  imagine  why,  if  Lady  Dunbar  regarded  the 
prejudices  of  a  few  rare  birds  she  kept  there,  she  might 
desire  to  lock  out  unsympathetic  strangers. 

Captain  Weyland,  who  was  rather  a  good-looking 
as  well  as  an  impudent  young  man,  ensconced  me  among 
the  cushions  of  a  tete-a-tete  sofa,  and  announced  his 
intention  of  setting  forth  in  search  of  ices.  There  were 
sure  to  be  a  lot  going  about  (he  alluded  to  them  as  if 
they  had  been  pilgrims),  and  he  wouldn't  be  away 
three  minutes. 

I  hoped  that  he  would  be  more,  and  when  his  back 
was  turned  I  settled  myself  to  a  hasty  readjustment  of 
my  disordered  mind.  I  had  hardly  assured  myself  that 
I  really  was  Consuelo  Brand,  and  no  other,  when  I 
heard  the  sound  of  voices  behind  a  velvet  curtain,  em- 


io6  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

broidered  with   gold   and  silver  in  Japanese   fashion, 
which  filled  in  one  end  of  the  room. 

"It's  locked,  there's  no  danger  of  anybody  being 
there,"  said  a  woman  in  full,  deep  contralto  tones.  "I 
always  give  orders  that  I  can't  have  this  one  place  dis- 
organized; it's  too  near  my  own  rooms.  Tell  me, 
quick,  all  you  have  to  tell.  I  must  go  back  in  a  mq- 
ment;  already  people  must  be  wondering,  though  for- 
tunately it's  a  crush.  How  can  anyone  expect  to  find 
the  hostess?" 

I  sprang  up,  anxious  to  make  my  unwelcome  pres- 
ence known,  yet  doubtful  how  best  to  do  it,  and  more 
than  a  little  frightened,  for  there  could  be  no  doubt 
that  behind  that  curtain  was  the  formidable  Lady  Dun- 
bar— the  heroine  of  the  victoria. 

"The  girl  may  have  the  papers,  or  she  may  not," 
responded  a  man,  whose  voice,  low  and  cautious  as 
it  was,  sounded  oddly  familiar.  "It  all  depends  on 
her  knowledge  of  the  escritoire.  Myself,  I  should  say 
she  knew  nothing,  or  her  knowledge  would  have 
been  used  before  this." 

"That  may  merely  mean  lack  of  money,  lack  of  self- 
confidence,  or  friends.  Great  Heaven,  that  I  should 
be  at  the  mercy  of  a  creature  like  that!  If  only 
you " 

"Here's  the  ice!"  triumphantly  exclaimed  Captain 
Weyland.     "I  wasn't  long,  w^as  I?" 

Silence  on  the  other  side  of  the  curtain.  To  face 
my  companion,  I  had  to  turn  my  back  in  that  direc- 
tion, and  my  spine  seemed  to  creep  under  the  sensation 
that  eyes  were  fixed  upon  it.    Thank  goodness,  if  eyes 


THE  FIRST  ACT  OF  THE  PLAY      107 

were  peering,  the  fact  that  my  back  was  turned  and 
that  a  sheltering  screen  intervened  would  prevent  me 
from  being  seen  now  and  recognised  later. 

It  was  an  effort  to  talk  commonplaces  and  give  the 
thanks  that  were  due  for  the  ice.  I  had  heard  very  few 
words,  and  I  could  not  patch  them  together  for  a 
meaning,  but  they  had  a  strange  sound  for  a  night  of 
festivity. 

What  girl  had  what  papers?  And  if  she  had  or  had 
not  got  them,  what  was  that  to  me?  The  tantalizing 
scrap  of  conversation  which  I  had  no  right  to  overhear, 
and  had  not  meant  to  overhear,  could  not  possibly  con- 
cern me,  it  seemed ;  yet  the  mention  of  an  escritoire  had 
touched  a  keynote.  I  had  an  escritoire,  old-fashioned, 
valueless,  save  for  association. 

The  word  "escritoire"  had  suddenly  reminded  me 
that  the  poor  piece  of  property  which  had  come  into  my 
possession  through  my  dear  mother's  death  had  been 
left  at  Happiholme  Villa,  unthought  of,  disregarded. 
That  I  had  forgotten  it  until  this  moment  seemed  like 
neglect  of  my  mother's  precious  memory. 

My  few  miserable  bits  of  wearing  apparel  were  of 
no  importance.  Cousin  Sarah  East  might  give  them  to 
a  dealer  in  rags  for  all  I  cared  now;  but  the  escritoire 
was  different.  I  ought  not  for  a  moment  to  have  al- 
lowed it's  existence  to  slip  my  mind. 

No  doubt  there  were  millions  of  escritoires  in  the 
possession  of  millions  of  girls  all  over  the  world;  but 
the  words  spoken  by  the  man's  voice,  representing  an 
unseen  personality,  lingered  in  my  thoughts  as  I  tried 
to  chat  with  Captain  Weyland.     I  must  go  back  to 


io8  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

Happiholme  Villa  and  reclaim  the  escritoire  without 
delay. 

What  if  Lady  Dunbar  and  her  companion  behind 
the  curtain  had  meant  me ?  Of  course  they  hadn't!  It 
was  ridiculous,  and  conceited  too,  to  fancy  it;  but,  at 
all  events,  the  subject  they  had  discussed  had  been  of 
serious  importance  to  them,  and  I  would  have  liked  to 
know  how  they  had  stood  the  shock  of  our  unexpected 
interruption. 

How  dead  the  silence  was  behind  the  curtain !  Were 
those  two  lingering,  watching,  listening  in  their  turn, 
or  had  they  gone  away?  What  if  they  should  lift  the 
velvet  folds  and  come  into  this  room,  to  see  who  had 
disturbed  them,  who  had  overheard?  Lady  Dunbar 
would  not  care  to  think  that  the  girl  she  had  followed 
in  her  victoria  (if  she  had  indeed  condescended  to 
follow)  was  the  eavesdropper,  knowingly  or  not. 

As  Captain  Weyland  talked,  other  voices  seemed  to 
hum  in  an  ominous  undertone  near  the  portals  of  my 
ear,  though  I  was  well  aware  they  existed  only  in  my 
fancy;  and  having  hurriedly  disposed  of  half  the  pink 
Ice  peach  he  had  brought  me,  I  ungratefully  said  that 
I  must  go  back  to  Lady  Sophie — already  I  had  stopped 
away  too  long. 

"They  haven't  finished  the  dance  after  ours  yet," 
Captain  Weyland  reproached  me,  "and  you  promised 
to,  sit  it  out.  However,  we  must  try  to  find  Lady  So- 
phie, if  you're  determined  on  spoiling  my  evening." 

I  denied  this  intention,  but  persevered  in  my  resolve. 
And  though  the  Guardsman's  eyes  were  not  as  observ- 
ant as  they  might  have  been,  with  assistance  from  mc 


THE  FIRST  ACT  OF  THE  PLAY      109 

we  contrived  to  discover  my  chaperon  in  a  room  ad- 
joining the  ballroom.  We  threaded  our  way  towards 
her,  and  having  nearly  sailed  into  port,  were  headed 
off  by  a  man  who  had  discovered  Lady  Sophie  almost 
simultaneously. 

He  hurried  to  gain  her  side;  I  half  drew  back,  biting 
my  lip,  for  the  new-comer  was  none  other  than  Sir 
George  Seaforth.  Did  I  wish  him  to  see  me  now,  or 
did  I  not?  I  was  not  sure;  but  the  dew-spangled 
cobweb  of  gauze  over  my  breast  was  quickly  rising 
and  falling. 

It  was  too  late  to  draw  back,  unless  I  were  willing 
to  let  Captain  Weyland  believe  that  I  had  changed 
my  mind,  and  decided  to  dance  the  next  with  him,  as 
he  had  requested.  So  I  let  him  guide  me  on ;  and  then, 
behind  Sir  George  Seaforth's  back,  we  paused  for  an 
instant  by  instinctive  mutual  consent,  to  allow  a  sen- 
tence to  be  finished  before  we  should  interrupt. 

"If  only  it  weren't  too  latel"  he  was  saying,  with 
some  feeling.  "Just  my  luck,  and  serves  me  exactly 
right,  I  suppose;  but,  for  all  that,  it  is  rather  hard 
lines.  If  you  could  see  what  an  angel  of  beauty  she 
was,  you'd  understand  how  absolutely  she  would  have 
filled  the  place " 

"Ah,  here's  the  little  friend  I  was  telling  you  of!" 
interpolated  Lady  Sophie,  who  had  caught  sight  of  me, 
with  Captain  Weyland,  over  Sir  George  Seaforth's 
well-set-up  shoulders.  There  was  an  inscrutable  light 
in  her  eyes,  though  her  face  wore  its  laziest  smile. 
"Consuelo,  dear,  you  are  very  naughty  to  have  stopped 
iway  so  long.    I  was  afraid  you  and  Captain  Weyland 


no  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

had  not  been  able  to  find  me.  May  I  introduce  Sir 
George  Seaforth?" 

He  turned,  and  we  looked  into  each  other's  eyes.  I 
don't  know  what  mine  said,  and  I  did  not  dare  to  try 
to  read  his.  Perhaps  I  could  not  if  I  would.  But, 
whatever  else  was  there,  I  think  surprise  was  the  pre- 
dominant emotion. 

No,  I  was  not  engaged  for  the  next  waltz.  The 
lancers  would  be  over  in  a  moment.  I  felt  that  my 
responses  were  prim  and  inadequate,  my  manner  awk- 
ward; for  the  first  time  I  became  painfully  conscious 
of  my  hands,  and  did  not  seem  able  to  keep  them  from 
fidgeting  with  my  fan — that  new,  expensive  fan  which 
it  would  be  so  disastrous  to  break. 

Presently  we  went  away  together,  leaving  Lady 
Sophie  talking  to  an  ample  dowager,  who  wore  plumes 
on  somebody  else's  hair.  I  was  conscious  that  his  eyes 
were  upon  me,  but  I  could  not  look  up. 


CHAPTER   XII 

MUST    HE   WHO    BREAKS    PAY? 

It  was  a  relief  to  begin  the  dance,  and  it  was  a  joy 
to  continue,  for  Sir  George  Seaforth  could  waltz  as  few 
men  could.  I  was  in  a  dream  when  it  was  over,  and 
he  took  me  into  the  conservatory;  a  conservatory  was 
the  conventional  thing,  I  had  heard,  though  I  knew 
nothing  from  experience. 

"Why  were  you  so  surprised  ?"  I  heard  myself  ask- 
ing, and  then  felt  that  I  should  have  preferred  to  say 
anything  rather  than  that. 

Sir  George  Seaforth  looked  at  me  as  if  he  w^ould 
read  my  thoughts. 

''Why  was  I  so  surprised?"  he  echoed.  "You  mean, 
when  I  saw  that — ^you  were  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Why  should  I  not  have  been  surprised  ?  It  was  the 
last  thing  in  the  world  I  expected.  If  I  had  thou^t 
of  it,  I  should  have  believed  it  far  too  good  to  be  true." 

"But  you  heard  my  name  last  night.  If  you  had 
remembered  you  might  have " 

"Remembered?" 

He  laughed  in  an  odd  way. 

"I  have  remembered  little  else.  Consuelo  Brand! 
It's  not  a  name  to  forget,  even  if  the  owner — but  you 
III 


112  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

know  what  a  peculiar  manner  Lady  Sophie  has  of  pro- 
nouncing the  letter  r.  I  thought  she  said  that  the 
— the  friend  who  had  come  to  visit  her  was  Miss 
Bland.     I  had  just  been  telling  her " 

He  paused  abruptly,  and  frowned,  as  if  he  were 
annoyed  at  his  own  indiscretion. 

"Do  finish  the  sentence,"  I  pleaded,  longing  to  know 
what  he  would  say,  and  recalling  with  a  tingle  of  the 
nerves  each  word  Captain  Weyland  and  I  had  caught 
as  we  waited  our  turn  to  approach  Lady  Sophie. 

Again  he  looked  at  me  strangely,  his  gray  eyes 
wistful  as  well  as  searching.  Suddenly  it  flashed  back 
to  me  how  Lady  Sophie  had  apparently  tried  to  keep 
us  apart  when  he  had  called  during  Anne's  and  my 
visit,  and  how  Anne  had  surmised  that  he  Vv-as  "part 
of  the  mystery."  The  expression  of  his  face  tended 
to  confirm  this  surmise  of  hers,  and  I  would  have  given 
much  if  it  had  been  possible  for  me  to  frankly  question 
him. 

If  I  had  any  power  of  judging  character,  he  was 
sweet-tempered,  yet  hot-tempered  at  the  same  time ;  im- 
pulsive, more  than  a  little  obstinate,  and  fond  of  having 
his  own  w^ay — he  had  not  that  prominent  chin,  deeply 
cleft  in  the  middle,  for  nothing,  I  was  sure — proud  to 
a  fault,  perhaps  a  bit  conceited,  headstrong,  and  quick 
to  draw  himself  within  a  shell  of  reserve  if  strangers 
endeavoured  to  pass  such  barriers  as  he  chose  to  erect. 
Still,  despite  all  this,  somehow  I  was  not  in  the  least 
afraid  of  him. 

I  felt  that  I  might  say  almost  anything  without 
danger  of  being  misunderstood ;  that,  though  it  was  not 


MUST  HE  WHO  BREAKS  PAY?       113 

his  nature  to  be  either  patient  or  forbearing,  I  might 
count  on  his  being  both  with  me.  It  was  not  fear  that 
closed  my  lips,  but  a  feeling  which  I  could  not  have 
explained,  although  without  putting  it  into  words  I 
understood  it,  and  knew  that  it  concerned  only  myself. 

"I  might  finish  my  sentence  in  two  ways,"  he  said 
slowly.  "And  both  would  be  equally  truthful.  I 
might  pay  you  a  compliment,  or  I  might — I  might  say 
something  which  would  disgust  you  with  me,  and  end 
all  chance  of — the  friendship  I  hope  to  win  from  J3\i 
by-and-by.  To  do  the  first  might  offend  you,  and — 
I  confess  I  haven't  the  moral  courage  for  the  other." 

"You  puzzle  me,"  I  returned.  "I  don't  understand 
you." 

"They  say,  when  a  woman  understaqds  a  man  he 
can  no  longer  hope  to  interest  her.  That  is  one  of 
the  reasons  why  I'm  glad  you  don't  understand  me." 

"Then  there  are  several  reasons?  You  are  certainly 
rather  mysterious.  But  everything  is  mysterious  lately." 

"Naturally,  to  you.  Life  is  life,  and  you  are  a 
debutante.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  this  were  your  first 
ball." 

"I  hope  I  haven't  done  anything  dreadful  to  make 
you  guess  it  so  soon.  But  it's  true.  Only  two  days 
ago,  if  anyone  had  told  me  that  I  should  ever  go  to  a 
ball,  I  should  have  thought  they  were  mad,  or  making 
fun  of  me." 

I  paused  in  the  flow  of  my  confidences,  blushing 
hotly ;  for  there  was  my  duty  to  my  benefactress,  and  I 
did  not  think  that  Lady  Sophie  would  care  to  have 
the  sordid  past  of  her  young  guest  known  and  dis- 


114  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

cussed.  Perhaps  the  reason  she  had  disliked  the  Idea  of 
our  meeting  yesterday  was  because  she  had  not  wished 
Sir  George  to  see  me  for  the  first  time  In  my  shabby 
clothes.  It  had  been  for  the  sake  of  sparing  my  pride 
that  she  had  desired  to  keep  us  apart ;  and  In  that  case 
there  was  no  mystery  at  all  so  far  as  Sir  George  Sea- 
forth  was  concerned. 

Lady  Sophie  did  not  guess  that  destiny  had  seen  fit, 
for  some  playful  purpose  of  its  own,  to  thwart  her 
well-laid  scheme,  and  perhaps  I  would  never  confess. 
I  could  see  no  reason  now  why  I  should.  Nevertheless, 
even  as  It  was,  Sir  George  knew  nothing  of  my  former 
circumstances,  except  that  he  had  twice  seen  me  yes- 
terday poorly  clad,  and  once  in  a  position  of  some  diffi- 
culty. I  might  have  been  masquerading  in  my  cheap 
garments,  for  all  that  he  could  tell,  and  for  Lady 
Sophie's  sake,  though  not  for  my  own,  I  would  check 
my  Impulse  towards  unnecessary  confidences. 

''Didn't  your  people  approve  of  dances?"  my  com- 
panion encouraged  me  to  go  on. 

'*Er — not  for  me,  at  any  rate,"  I  answered  quite 
truthfully,  with  a  twinkle  in  my  eyes.  I  imagined 
Cousin  Sarah  East's  attitude  towards  a  request  of  mine 
to  attend  such  an  entertainment.  ''But  I  love  it — oh, 
how  I  love  dancing!  I  was  never  so  happy  in  my  life 
— at  least,  since  my  mother  left  me — as  I  am  to-night." 

"How  many  dances  will  you  give  me?  I  oughtn't 
to  be  selfish,  but  do  let  me  have  six!" 

''Would  th^t  be  the  usual  thing — really,  truly? 
You  see,  I  don't  know,  so  I  must  depend  on  you  to 
tell  me." 


MUST  HE  WHO  BREAKS  PAY?       115 

"Well,  if  you  put  me  on  honour,  perhaps  I'm  ask- 
ing too  much  for  your  first  ball.  But  I  think 
I  may  beg  for  four  with  a  clear  conscience,  if 
you  don't  mind  being  good-natured  and  letting  me 
have  them." 

*'I  like  it!"  I  had  exclaimed  before  I  had  time  to 
ask  myself  whether  frankness  were  fashionable  for 
young  maidens  in  society.  "You  dance  so  splendidly," 
I  compromised. 

"Our  step  did  suit,  didn't  it?  I'm  so  glad.  It  seems 
somehow  like  a  good  omen." 

"Are  you  a  soldier?"  I  asked  abruptly.  "You  walk 
like  one,  and,  I  fancy,  dance  like  one,  too." 

"That's  rather  a  sore  point,  but  I  don't  dislike  talk- 
ing of  it  with  you.  I  used  to  be  a  soldier;  it  was 
my  life,  the  thing  I  cared  for  most  on  earth.  But  I 
had  solemnly  promised  my  father  that  when  he  died, 
and  I  came  into  the  title,  I'd  chuck  the  army  and  take 
up  his  work,  which  meant  to  him  all  and  more  than 
being  a  soldier  meant  to  me.  You  see,  he  was  awfully 
interested  in  improving  the  condition  of  the  working 
people,  and  as  charity  begins  at  home,  he  had  done  a 
lot  for  our  tenants.  I  hoped  he  would  live  to  be  a 
very  old  man,  and  I  expected  when  I  made  that  prom- 
ise to  get  twenty  more  good  years  of  soldiering  at  least ; 
but  he  died — dear  old  governor! — quite  suddenly  a 
year  ago;  and  his  last  word  to  me  was,  'Rem.ember!' 
I  knew  what  he  was  thinking  of,  and  satisfied  him  that 
I  wasn't  going  to  break  my  word.  Now,  I  seem  to 
have  told  you  a  lot  about  myself.  Won't  you  tell  me 
something  of  yourself,  too?    Fancy,  I'd  spent  all  day 


ii6  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

trying  to  think  how  I  was  to  meet  you  again;  and 
here  you  are." 

"My  story  isn't  written  yet;  I  am  only  in  the  first 
chapter,"  I  said  demurely. 

"Then  I'm  in  that  first  chapter.  What  luck  for 
me.  even  if  my  part  be  but  a  small  one!  I  hope, 
though,  I'm  not  going  to  turn  out  the  villain  of 
the  tale." 

I  glanced  up  at  him  as  we  walked  slowly  back  to- 
ward the  ballroom. 

"You  don't  look  much  like  a  villain." 

A  slight  contraction  drew  his  level  dark  brows  to- 
gether, and  his  lips  were  compressed,  as  if  with  a 
thought  that  gave  him  pain. 

"You  mustn't  judge  by  appearances,"  he  said. 
"There's  disinterested  advice  to  a  debutante.  If  there 
ever  has  been  anything  of  the  villain  about  me,  I'm 
going  to  set  to  work  and  write  it  out  of  my  story  to- 
night. I  wonder  if  one  can  do  that?  What  do  you 
think?  Does  he  who  breaks  alw^aj^s  have  to  pay — 
pay  with  the  one  immediate  jew^el  of  his  soul,  the  only 
coin  the  gods  will  accept?  But  how  could  you  have 
an  opinion  on  that  subject,  Miss  Brand?  Good  music, 
isn't  it;  and  a  jolly  floor?  We're  just  in  time  for  this 
gaiop.     I  wish  it  had  been  a  waltz." 

His  arm  slid  round  my  waist,  and  I  danced,  feeling 
more  than  ever  puzzled,  partly  because  of  his  question, 
but  more  because  of  his  quick  change  of  voice  and  sub- 
ject. We  did  not  stop  until  the  galop  was  over.  Next 
came  the  waltz  that  Sir  George  Seaforth  had  wished 
for,  and  when  it  had  ended,  all  too  soon,  I  asked  that 


MUST  HE  WHO  BREAKS  PAY?       117 

he  would  take  me  to  Lady  Sophie.  We  would  have 
those  other  dances  later,  If  he  liked. 

As  we  walked  acrossed  the  room  together  I  could 
not  help  noticing  that  almost  everyone  seemed  to  be 
particularly  interested  in  us.  They  looked  at  me,  and 
looked  again.  In  a  lower  rank  of  society  I  think  the 
gaze  might  have  degenerated  into  a  stare. 

"I  do  hope  my  hair  isn't  coming  down,  or  anything 
the  matter  with  my  frock,"  I  exclaimed  almost  beseech- 
ingly to  Lady  Sophie,  when  we  had  reached  her  side 
at  last. 

I  had  spoken  in  a  low,  distressed  voice,  but  Sir 
George  must  have  heard  the  words,  for  his  eyes  and 
Lady  Sophie's  met,  and  both  smiled. 

"It  has  begun,"  she  remarked  to  him.  Then,  turning 
to  me,  ''Don't  be  alarmed,  dear;  you  are  quite  right. 
Yours  is  a  new  face,  that's  all.  People  are  wondering 
who  you  are.  I  was  talking  with  Lady  Dunbar  only 
a  few  minutes  ago — unearthed  her  at  last! — and  told 
her  something  about  you.  She  is  quite  curious  to  see 
you  now." 

"There's  Miss  Dunbar,"  said  Sir  George  Seaforth, 
*Vith  Captain  Weyland." 

A  few  seconds  later  a  radiant  being,  a  more  beaute- 
ous development  of.  yesterday's  vision  in  pink  muslin, 
was  speaking  to  Lady  Sophie  In  a  soft,  sweet  voice. 

For  the  moment  a  classical  profile  was  turned  to- 
wards me,  and  my  fascinated  eyes  lingered  upon  its 
cameo-like  outlines. 

She  was  even  lovelier  than  I  had  thought  her  yes- 
terday as  she  had  leaned  back  by  her  mother's  side  in 


ii8  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

the  victoria.  And  yet  perhaps  "lovely"  was  hardly 
the  word  to  describe  this  Honourable  Diana,  who 
looked  as  if  the  earth  were  an  iced  cake  for  her  care- 
less fingers  to  pick  to  pieces  and  find  all  the  best  plums. 

She  was  tall  as  her  fabled  namesake,  and  her  perfect 
features  were  of  the  aquilme  type,  her  conspicuously 
short  upper  lip  thin  and  red  as  wet  coal.  The  eyes, 
which  were  absolutely  of  almond  shape,  and  very  large, 
were  as  black  as  eyes  ever  are,  and  had  heavy  white 
lids,  darkly  fringed  above  and  below.  The  hair,  elab- 
orately dressed,  and  wound  with  a  string  of  pearls  over 
the  low  forehead,  was  of  an  almost  unnaturally  bright 
chestnut,  appearing  all  the  more  vivid  because  of  the 
dead  white  of  the  beautiful  face,  smooth  and  colourless 
as  the  petals  of  a  pond  lily. 

Miss  Dunbar  said  something  commonplace  and 
agreeable  to  Lady  Sophie,  and  then  turned  to  me. 
Lady  Sophie  had  mentioned  that  she  had  a  guest. 
It  was  so  nice  of  me  to  have  come.  Miss  Dunbar 
hoped  that  I  had  been  dancing  a  great  deal.  Her 
mother  had  said  that  she  wished  to  meet  me.  I 
was  rather  like  someone  she  had  once  known — an  old 
friend  now  dead.  Would  I  mind  being  introduced,  if 
there  happened  to  be  some  dances  I  didn't  fancy,  so 
that  I  wouldn't  feel  that  I  was  wasting  time? 

My  heart  gave  a  little  thump.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  a  first  conversation  with  Lady  Dunbar  could 
hardly  fail  to  be  interesting. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

LADY   DUNBAR   AND   A   CATECHISM 

The  next  dance  was  the  "Washington  Post,"  im- 
ported from  the  States  long  since  the  days  when  I  had 
learned  dancing  from  a  skilled  and  loving  teacher.  I 
therefore  did  not  know  it,  and  did  not  wish  to  take 
a  lesson  in  public,  though  Sir  George  Seaforth  offered 
to  give  it,  and  argued  the  point  for  some  time. 

I  would  go  instead  to  Lady  Dunbar,  I  said,  and 
Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton's  eyes  sparkled  with  controlled 
curiosity  in  anticipation  of  the  scene  at  which  she 
would  not  be  present. 

''Let  me  take  you  to  Lady  Dunbar,"  exclaimed  Sir 
George. 

Miss  Dunbar  shrugged  her  white,  lavishly-displayed 
shoulders  with  the  pettish  air  of  a  spoiled  beauty. 

''How  horrid  of  you  to  have  forgotten  that  you 
made  me  promise  last  week  to  dance  the  'Washington 
Post'  with  you!  It  isn't  at  all  the  proper  thing  for 
me  to  remind  you  of  It,  but  you  know  I'm  not  a  par- 
ticularly well-regulated  young  person,  and  I  hate  sit- 
ting out.  Miss  Brand  doesn't  want  to  dance,  and  Cap- 
tain Weyland  loathes  the  'Post.'  Providence  evidently 
intended  that  he  should  guide  her  to  my  mother." 

"Of  course  I  didn't  forget;  I  only  forgot  that  this 
was  the  'Washington  Post,'  "  asseverated  Sir  George 
iig 


120  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

Seaforth.  "Awfully  good  of  you  to  keep  it.  Don't 
forget  that  the  next  is  ours,  Miss  Brand." 

He  looked  at  me  no  more,  as  Captain  Weyland  said 
agreeable  things,  and  prepared  to  be  my  pilot  between 
the  Scylla  and  Charybdis  of  the  crowd.  But  for  all 
that,  though  Miss  Dunbar  had  his  eyes  and  his  most 
courageous  attention — and  she  was  beautiful  enough 
to  hold  both;  probably  far,  far  handsomer  than  I — I 
had  a  curiously  peaceful,  blissful  feeling  that  I  kept 
Sir  George  Seaforth's  thoughts,  and  carried  them  away 
with  me  across  the  room. 

"Pretty  girl.  Miss  Dunbar,  isn't  she?"  remarked 
Captain  Weyland.     "She's  in  splendid  form  to-night.'* 

"She's  handsomer  than  anyone  I  ever  saw,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"So  a  lot  of  people  think.  She's  been  no  end  run 
after  since  she  came  out  a  year  ago.  She  was  quite 
the  beauty  of  last  season,  and  has  held  first  place  this 
season,  too,  without  any  trouble ;  it's  been  a  w^alk  over 
for  her  till  now — everybody  ravin'  about  her,  most  of 
the  best  fellows  danglin'  on  her  line,  and  that  sort  of 
thing,  you  know.   Wonder  if  she  won't  shy  at  a  rival  ?" 

"Has  she  one?"  I  asked. 

"Has  she  one!  That's  pretty  good,  isn't  it?  I  should 
rather  think  she  had — after  to-night.  It's  been  a 
regular  sensation." 

"Dear  me!  Is  the  girl  here,  then?  I'd  like  to  see 
her.  It  seems  almost  impossible  that  anyone  could  be 
handsomer  than  Miss  Dunbar." 

"So  she  thought,  I  fancy.  Look  here.  Miss  Brand, 
you  come  from  Devonshire,  don't  you?" 


LADY  DUNBAR  AND  A  CATECHISM     121 

"I  don't — er — I  mean  no.  Why  do  you  ask?" 
"Well,  there  are  some  Brands  there,  and — er — the 
girls  are  so  awf  lly  refreshin'ly  Innocent  In  Devonshire. 
Would  you  really  like  to  see  Miss  Dunbar's  rival  at- 
traction? ril  show  her  to  you  at  the  end  of  this  room 
before  we  get  to  Lady  Dunbar." 

I  thanked  him.  Now  that  I  was  sure  my  frock  and 
hair  were  above  reproach,  It  was  rather  fun  to  have 
people  look  at  me  as  they  did.  I  began  to  think  that 
I  must  really  present  quite  a  respectable  appearance  in 
a  pretty  frock. 

"There  she  is!"  said  Captain  Weyland,  stopping  sud- 
denly and  bringing  me  to  a  standstill  too. 

My  eyes  travelled  inquiringly,  but  without  result 
except  for  my  own  reflection  in  a  huge  mirror  that  ran 
from  floor  to  ceiling.  I  gave  a  little  gasp,  and — com- 
prehended. 

"How  unkind  of  you  to  make  fun  of  me!"  I  ejacu- 
lated. 

"Make  fun?  Ton  my  honour,  I  was  in  dead  earn- 
est; thought  I  was  puttin'  it  rather  nicely,  too.  My 
word,  Miss  Brand,  you're  going  to  make  havoc  among 
us  for  what's  left  of  the  season!  As  you  are  strong, 
be  merciful,  I  beg.  And  look  in  the  society  columns 
of  all  the  newspapers  to-morrow  if  you  don't  believe 
what  I  say." 

Compliments  are  popularly  supposed  to  be  pleasant 

fare  for  a  woman,  but  these,  coming  after  nineteen 

years'  fasting,  choked  me  and  sent  the  blood  with  such 

a  rush  to  my  head  that  tears  were  forced  into  my  eyes. 

"There's  Lady  Dunbar,"  I  said  hurriedly. 


122  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

"Oh,  you  know  her,  then?'* 

"Not  to  speak  to.  I — I've  only  seen  her  once  be- 
fore." 

A  moment  after  Captain  Weyland  was  introducing 
me,  in  such  a  manner  that  I  guessed  he  must  be  an 
old  friend  and  favourite  of  J^ady  Dunbar's,  and  he  did 
not  neglect  to  mention,  by  way  of  making  conversation, 
that  this  was  not  the  first  time  I  had  seen  my  hostess. 

A  flash  of  fire  darted  from  her  dark  eyes  to  mine 
at  this  announcement,  so  quickly  that  it  might  have 
been  a  ray  from  the  diamond  tiara  on  her  night-black 
hair. 

"Indeed?"  she  repeated.  "I  could  almost  be  certain 
that  we  had  not  met.  Miss  Brand.  Yours  is  not  a  face 
to  forget,  especially  as  it — recalls  the  past." 

"We  did  not  meet,"  I  responded  meekly.  "I  saw 
you " 

"Where?"  with  veiled  eagerness. 

For  an  instant  I  hesitated.  If  there  were  no  other 
mystery  in  the  events  of  the  past  two  days,  she  was 
a  mystery,  or  at  least  her  apparent  interest  in  me  was 
no  less,  and  if  I  wished  to  fathom  it  (as  I  naturally 
did)  I  must  be  wise  as  a  serpent,  harmless  as  a  dove. 
I  must  begin  well,  for  never  afterwards,  if  I  made  a 
false  start  now,  could  I  recover  lost  ground. 

"It  was  in  the  Park,  yesterday  afternoon.  You  and 
Miss  Dunbar  w^ere  driving  together,  I  think,"  was  my 
circumspect  answer. 

"Ah,  was  that  all?  How  nice  of  you  to  remember 
our  faces  through  twenty- four  hours!  But,  then,  this 
is  surely  your  first  season.     I  should  like  to  have  a 


LADY  DUNBAR  AND  A  CATECHISM     123 

little  talk  with  you,  if  you  really  don't  mind  missing 
this  one  dance." 

"I  can't  dance  it,"  I  bluntly  replied. 

**Run  away,  then,  Jerry" — to  Captain  Weyland — 
"like  a  good  boy.     I  want  Miss  Brand  to  myself." 

"I  hope  you  won't  be  torn  quite  to  pieces  here,  in  this 
whirlpool.  But  that's  the  penalty  of  talking  with  the 
hostess.  Tell  me:  you  only  saw  me  in  the  Park  yes- 
terday?" 

I  could  not  be  guilty  of  a  deliberate  lie. 

"I — fancied  I  saw  you  afterwards,  but  wasn't  sure." 

"Where  was  that?" 

"Oh,  in  Hamilton  Place  at  first." 

"And  after " 

"I  was  going  down  to  Peckham,  and — I  thought — I 
couldn't  be  certain,  of  course." 

Lady  Dunbar  smiled  upon  me ;  but  though  her  smile 
was  brilliant  it  was  singularly  cold — cold  as  moonlight 
or  mountain  snow. 

"It  must  have  been  I,"  she  pleasantly  admitted. 
"My  daughter  and  I  work  as  hard  as  the  rest  of  our 
friends  at  amusing  ourselves,  but  we  try  to  do  a  little 
something  for  others,  too;  and  we  occasionally 
take  a  few  trifles  to  a  poor  woman  in  Peck- 
ham.  We  went  to  see  her  yesterday.  So  you 
were  going  in  that  direction,  too?  Rather  an 
odd  coincidence." 

"Not  as  odd  as  it  seemed,"  I  remarked  to  myself, 
considering  I  had  lived  there  for  five  years.  But  aloud 
I  said  nothing.    I  merely  smiled  a  non-committal  smile. 

"So  out  of  the  way,  Isn't  it?"  murmured  Lady  Dun- 


124  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

bar.  "Though  one  doesn't  grumble  when  it's  for  char- 
ity, of  course.    Do  you  often  go  to  Peckham  ?" 

"Rather  often.  But  I  don't  expect  to  do  so  as  fre- 
quently in  future,"  I  made  demure  reply. 

"Ah,  you  will  be  with  my  dear  Lady  Sophie  for  some 
time.  I  am  glad  of  that.  Diana  would  like  to  know 
you.  You  must  get  Lady  Sophie  to  spare  you  to  us 
sometimes.  You  know,  you  look  remarkably  like  a 
friend  of  my  youthful  days — a  very  beautiful  woman, 
I  may  tell  you.  Her  name  was  Margaret  Sylvester.  I 
wonder  if,  by  any  possibilty,  you  are  related  to  her?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"No,  Lady  Dunbar,  I  never  even  heard  the  name 
before." 

"I  am  disappointed,"  she  declared.  But,  an  odd  con- 
tradiction to  the  statement,  her  face  cleared. 

"If  she  had  been  even  a  distant  relative  of  yours, 
you  could,  of  course,  not  have  failed  to  hear  of  her.'* 

I  was  tempted  to  say  that  I  might  easily  have  failed, 
since  I  knew  absolutely  nothing  of  my  relatives,  save 
Cousin  Sarah  East,  of  whom  I  knew  too  much.  But  I 
remembered  my  mkier,  which  w^as  to  learn  all  I  could, 
and  betray  nothing.  I  therefore  only  remarked  that  if 
I  had  heard  so  pretty  a  name  as  Margaret  Sylvester, 
I  should  not  have  forgotten  it. 

"I  am  surprised  that  Sophie  de  Gretton  never  spoke 
of  you  to  me  before,"  Lady  Dunbar  continued,  with 
a  weary  note  of  irritation  in  her  face,  which  she  tried 
in  vain  to  subdue.  "I  suppose  your  people  and  hers 
are  old  friends." 

"I  look  like  someone  she  used  to  know,"  I  returned. 


LADY  DUNBAR  AND  A  CATECHISM     125 

"Perhaps  she,  too,  takes  an  Interest  in  me  on  account 
of  Margaret  Sylvester." 

I  had  meant  to  be  so  prudent,  but  if  I  had  deliber- 
ately worked  up  to  this  point,  when  I  might  disconcert 
the  enemy  by  throwing  a  bombshell  into  his  lines,  I 
could  not  have  succeeded  more  thoroughly. 

Lady  Dunbar  was  not  a  character  in  Adelphi  melo- 
drama, therefore  she  did  not  pant  or  start  violently, 
or,  indeed,  exhibit  any  other  notable  sign  of  discom- 
posure. But  she  drew  in  her  lips,  and  there  was  a 
flicker  of  the  sharply-cut  nostrils,  expanding  and  con- 
tracting like  those  of  a  vicious  horse. 

"Has  she  said  anything  to  make  you  think  that,  Miss 
Brand?" 

"No,  It  was  merely  my  imagination." 

"You  have  a  vivid  one.  It  must  be  a  pleasure  to 
you.     But  surely  your  people " 

"I  am  all  my  own  people — at  present." 

What  induced  me  to  add  those  last  two  words  I 
do  not  know,  but  for  some  reason  they  pricked  Lady 
Dunbar  as  If  I  had  stabbed  at  her  with  the  tiny  point 
of  a  penknife. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A   SURPRISE    FOR   COUSIN    SARAH 

"In  a  day  or  two  I  will  go  to  Peckham  and  take 
away  mother's  escritoire  from  Cousin  Sarah  East's 
house,"  I  promised  myself  among  my  pillows  at  three 
o'clock  In  the  morning,  after  Lady  Dunbar's  ball.  But, 
needless  to  say,  the  Intention  went  to  lay  another 
paving-stone  In  a  place  no  well-brought-up  young 
woman  ever  mentions,  except  In  church. 

Life  was  a  kaleidoscope,  with  each  flowery  turn  of 
the  rainbow  wheel  m.ore  brilliant  than  the  last.  I  was 
a  success,  It  appeared,  and  every  hour  had  its  separate 
engagement.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  hard  work 
as  well  as  pleasure;  but  on  the  whole  It  seemed  an 
easier  thing  to  turn  In  a  single  day  from  a  Peckham 
nursery  governess  Into  a  butterfly  of  society  than  I 
could  have  supposed  possible;  though  perhaps,  as  my 
patroness  declared,  that  came  of  being  a  gentlewoman 
to  begin  with. 

Lady  Sophie's  place  at  the  breakfast-table  was 
heaped  with  invitations  each  morning — invitations  in 
which  I  shared — and  we  accepted  all  that  we  could 
undertake  without  actually  Inducing  immediate  nervous 
prostration.  I  must  have  had  to  talk,  on  an  average, 
with  a  hundred  different  people  every  day,  and  I  won- 
126 


A  SURPRISE  FOR  COUSIN  SARAH    127 

dered  at  myself  as  I  saw  how  easily  I  picked  up  the 
jargon  of  society. 

I  chatted  about  the  book  of  the  hour  (which  I  had 
glanced  at  as  Adele  brushed  my  hair)  ;  I  exhaustively 
criticised  the  De  Reszkes  and  Madame  Melba  (whom 
I  had  heard  twice,  when  Sir  George  Seaforth  gave  us 
his  box  at  Covent  Garden)  ;  I  babbled  of  actors  and 
actresses  whom  I  had  never  seen,  and  did  not  hesitate 
to  discuss  the  rival  merits  of  horses  for  the  not-far  dis- 
tant Ascot. 

I  even  ventured,  by  the  end  of  a  week,  to  risk  drop- 
ping my  g's,  that  one  combined  touch  of  nature 
and  affectation  where  the  two  extremes  of  society 
meet. 

In  all  this  there  was  no  time  to  think  of  Happi- 
holme  Villa,  which  seemed  now  to  have  belonged  to 
a  past  incarnation. 

In  the  morning  we  slept  or  shopped,  and  Lady 
Sophie's  generosity  to  me  was  boundless.  I  dared 
not  express  a  wish  lest  it  should  be  instantly  granted, 
and  it  appeared  to  m.e  that  her  idea  of  poverty  must 
be  an  elastic  one.  In  the  afternoons  we  went  to  "at 
homes"  in  the  Botanical  Gardens,  or  tooled  out  to 
'Ranelagh  on  Sir  George  Seaforth's  coach,  or  amused 
ourselves  in  some  other  way,  with  a  large  contingent 
of  young  men  usually  following  in  our  wake.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  great  many  young  men  in  this  new 
world  of  mine,  and  few  of  them  had  anything  to  do, 
save  amuse  themselves  and  us;  or  if  they  had  anything 
else,  they  carefully  refrained  from  doing  it.  But  other 
men   might   come,    other   men    might   go;   there   was 


128  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

always  Sir  George  Seaforth.  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton 
said  that  he  was  a  very,  very  old  friend  of  hers. 

In  the  evenings  there  was  always  somebody's  dinner, 
or  Lady  Sophie  gave  a  small  one  of  her  own,  perhaps 
at  Willis's  Rooms  or  the  Savoy,  as  her  dining-room 
was  strictly  limited.  Afterwards  there  was  the  opera 
or  theatre,  or  two  or  three  dances  and  a  concert;  so  it 
came  about  that  w^hile  this  kaleidoscopic  existence  was 
still  a  novelty,  I  thought  no  more  of  my  mother's 
property  which  should  have  been  reclaimed  from  Peck- 
ham  ;  and  I  drank  deep  of  the  sweet  draught  of  flattery 
which  was  held  to  my  lips. 

I  loved  the  flowers  which  were  sent  to  me  because 
they  were  "tribute,"  as  well  as  because  of  their  beauty. 
I  was  inwardly  pleased  with  the  paragraphs  in  the 
society  papers,  that  described  me  as  a  ''radiant  new 
star  that  had  just  risen  over  the  horizon."  I  experi- 
enced a  s'ense  of  intoxication  when  editors  of  women's 
magazines  wrote  Lady  Sophie  asking  permission  to 
reproduce  my  photograph,  and  fashionable  photog- 
raphers begged  an  opportunity  of  "taking  me"  for 
nothing. 

It  was  especially  delightful  to  have  a  new  rose  named 
after  me;  and  there  was  a  wicked  joy  in  watching  the 
face  of  Miss  Dunbar,  who  happened  to  be  present  when 
the  news  of  this  compliment  was  broken  to  me  by  the 
enthusiastic  horticulturist,  an  eligible,  if  elderly,  bar- 
onet. Altogether,  if  I  had  time  for  self-examination, 
I  should  have  seen  that  the  sudden  change  in  my  cir- 
cumstances had  flown  to  my  head,  that  I  was  growing 
vain  and  taking  everything  for  granted,  and  that,  when 


A  SURPRISE  FOR  COUSIN  SARAH    129 

the  time  should  come,  as  maybe  it  soon  would,  for  me 
to  be  driven  out  from  this  land  of  enchantment,  I 
should  be  in  a  sad  condition  to  catch  up  the  thread 
of  my  old  existence  where  I  had  let  it  drop. 

But  weeks  passed  by,  and  Ascot  came  and  went; 
yet  there  had  been  no  word,  no  hint,  from  Lady  Sophie 
that  it  was  time  my  wonderful  visit  drew  to  a  close. 
One  night,  when  I  had  been  too  tired  to  sleep,  the 
glamour  passed  away  from  before  my  eyes  like  a  cloud, 
as  they  stared  wakefully  into  the  darkness.  I  saw  my- 
self and  my  surroundings  more  as  they  really  were  in 
relation  to  each  other  than  I  had  yet  done,  shivering 
as  if  a  cold  wind  had  nipped  me. 

Next  morning,  at  a  late  breakfast,  when  the  footman 
had  left  us  alone  over  tea  and  toast  and  strawberries, 
I  spoke  to  Lady  Sophie.  She  had  been  sorting  out 
a  new  batch  of  invitations,  some  of  which  would  be 
accepted,  others  which  were  undesirable,  or  could  not 
by  any  means  be  fitted  in,  and  some  which  were  for 
very  far  ahead. 

"Maybe  I  won't  be  with  you  then,"  I  said  uneasily. 

"Not  with  me !  Why,  you  surely  haven't  been  mak- 
ing independent  plans  for  Goodwood?" 

"No,  of  course  not.  But  I  can't  keep  on  visiting 
you  for  ever." 

Lady  Sophie  bit  her  lip,  and  looked  vexed  or  uncom- 
fortable, I  was  not  sure  which. 

"  We  did  not  put  any  limit  on  the  visit  when  we 
first  arranged  that  you  should  come,  so  far  as  I  can 
remember,  dear,"  she  replied,  interesting  herself  in  the 
union  of  a  strawberry  and  some  Devonshire  cream. 


130  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

''You  did  ask  me  if  I  would  be  willing  to  throw 
everything  over  for  the  sake  of  a  fortnight.  It  was 
early  in  June  then,  and  now  it's  the  first  of  July." 

''Oh,  but  that  was  a  joke.  I  thought  you  quite 
understood.  You  will  stop  with  me  till  the  end  of 
the  season,  of  course.  There's  Henley  in  a  day  or 
two,  and,  as  I  was  just  telling  you.  Sir  George  has 
asked  us  for  his  house-party  at  Goodwood.  Then 
comes  Cowes — 3'ou're  so  fond  of  the  water,  you'll 
enjoy  Cowes.  And  that  reminds  me:  we  must  see 
about  )'our  frocks  at  once.  After  that — well,  who 
knows  just  what  may  happen?" 

"That's  just  what  worries  me?"  I  said.  "Who  does 
know?  I  am  accepting  so  much  from  }^ou,  dear  Lady 
Sophie.  If  I  had  been  a  princess,  instead  of  a  poor 
little  waif,  you  couldn't  have  done  m.ore.  I  dare  not 
think  what  you  must  have  spent  on  my  clothes;  and 
—and  lots  of  other  things." 

Her  face  contracted  with  an  odd  little  spasm  of 
the  nerves,  as  it  often  did  if  I  alluded  to  her  many 
kindnesses. 

"Doesn't  it  seem  to  you  that  I  ought  now  to  begin 
looking  the  future  in  the  face,  and  preparing  to  meet 
it?  Of  course,  I  am  more  than  happy  with  you,  and 
I  have  never  got  over  the  feeling  of  being  in  fairyland, 
as  if  I'd  lifted  a  stone  under  a  hollow  tree,  and  gone 
down  a  thousand  steps,  like  the  children  in  the  Ger- 
man story-books.  But  they  always  had  to  go  back  to 
the  real  world  after  awhile,  and  so  must  I.  Hadn't  I 
better  see  some  agent  for  governesses,  and  ask " 

"I  don't  think  it  wjjl  be  necessary,"  replied  Lady 


A  SURPRISE  FOR  COUSIN  SARAH    131 

Sophie  dryly.  "I  took  a  great  fancy  to  you  when  I 
first  saw  you,  as  I  explained;  and  during  these  weeks 
that  you  have  been  with  me  I  have  grown  very  fond 
of  you — even  more  fond  than  I  supposed  possible,  with 
such  a  selfish  woman  as  I  confess  to  being.  Still,  I 
can't  keep  you  for  ever,  as  you  remind  me,  and  it 
is  only  right  that  you  should  look  to  the  future.  But 
has  it  never  occurred  to  you,  my  child,  that  you  will 
have  many  opportunites  of  remaining  forever  in  the 
world  to  which  I've  introduced  you?" 

Vain  as  I  had  become,  I  had  not  yet  outgrown  the 
habit  of  blushing. 

"You  mean — oh,  of  course,  I  know  what  you  mean, 
though  it  seems  horrid  to  talk  of  it." 

"You  have  had  several  proposals  already,  dear," 
Lady  Sophie  continued,  with  no  hesitating  timidity  on 
her  part:  "not  quite  what  I  should  have  cared  for  you 
to  accept,  perhaps;  but  they  are  only  an  earnest  of 
what   are   sure   to   come.     If    I    cared    to    mention 


names 

"Oh,  don't — don't,  please,"  I  broke  in,  with  a  face 
that  felt  scarlet. 

"Well,  I  won't!"  said  Lady  Sophie.  "But  there's 
one  thing  I'd  better  say,  once  for  all,  and  have  it  done 
with.  If  you  have  half  the  good  sense  I've  tried  to 
inculcate  in  j^ou,  you'll  choose  a  rich  man.  It's  just 
as  easy  to  fall  in  love  with  a  man  who  has  money  as 
with  one  who  hasn't.  People  have  got  the  impression 
that  you  are  an  heiress " 

"How  dreadful!"  I  exclaimed.  "I  don't  see  why, 
except  for  the  pretty  dresses  you  have " 


132  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

"I  have  played  our  cards  as  judiciously  as  I  knew 
how,  my  child.  You  are  the  daughter  of  a  dear  dead 
school  friend  of  mine,  and  have  lived  all  your  life 
buried  in  the  country  with  guardians  who  were  very 
strict  in  their  ideas.  There's  m.ore  or  less  truth  in 
all  that ;  quite  enough  truth  for  society,  on  the  principle 
that  it's  wrong  to  cast  pearls  before — well,  you  know 
the  rest.  I  have  been  reserved,  yet  not  secretive,  in 
my  way  of  speaking  of  you,  and  naturally,  people 
haven't  gone  so  far  as  to  ask  direct  questions,  except 
Valencie  Dunbar,  who  has  certainly  taken  the  most 
morbid  interest.  Why  I  can't  guess,  unless  through 
jealousy  for  Diana;  and  the  slight  mystery  that  sur- 
rounds your  antecedents  has  only  heightened  the  at- 
traction. I'm  afraid  that  I  don't  often  take  up  pen- 
niless girls,  and  put  myself  to  much  trouble  on  their 
account,  so  that  you  can  understand  why  gossip  has 
accredited  you  with  a  fortune  of  your  own.  You  are 
very  beautiful,  uncommonly  fresh  and  original,  and 
bewitching;  still,  you  mustn't  let  vanity  blind  you  to 
the  fact  that  ineligibles  may  seek  the  heiress;  eligibles 
are  the  only  ones  you  can  safely  count  on  as  disinter- 
ested. By  the  way  that  half  the  women  in  London 
hate  you  already  (with  Diana  Dunbar  at  the  head  of 
the  list),  I  should  fancy  that  in  a  few  weeks  more  you 
might  almost  have  your  pick  among  the  men  they  all 
want." 

I  thought  of  the  one  man  I  wanted,  and  dared 
not  hope  wanted  me,  lest  I  should  expect  too  much 
of  lavish  destiny ;  and  for  fear  that  Lady  Sophie  should 
speak  his  name,  and  break  the  sweet  spell  of  silence 


A  SURPRISE  FOR  COUSIN  SARAH    133 

with  a  jarring  note  like  a  snapped  string  on  a  violin, 
I  hurried  to  change  the  subject.  Whether  or  no  fate 
were  in  it,  I  know  not,  but  the  words  which  sprang 
into  my  mind  and  got  themselves  uttered  concerned  the 
escritoire  and  the  neglected  visit  to  Peckham. 

*1  needn't  make  any  trouble,  you  know,  for  I'd  go 
alone,  of  course,  in  an  omnibus,"  I  meekly  suggested. 
'Then,  if  you  wouldn't  mind  my  having  the  escritoire 
here — or  I  could  store  it  somewhere,  perhaps." 

Lady  Sophie  had  listened  attentively  to  my  account, 
given  for  the  first  time,  of  what  I  had  overheard  behind 
the  curtain  at  Lady  Dunbar's,  and  though  she  agreed 
with  me  in  thinking  that  the  words  regarding  an  escri- 
toire had  only  seemed  to  concern  me  by  a  mere  coinci- 
dence, she  saw  no  reason  why  I  should  not  retrieve 
my  one  valued  possession  from  the  stronghold  of  the 
Easts. 

''You  can  have  it  in  your  room,"  she  said.  *'And 
you  shan't  go  in  an  omnibus.  I  thought,  when  I  first 
proposed  your  coming  here,  that  it  would  be  well  not 
to  call  for  you  in  my  own  carriage,  as  we  did  not 
want  the  whole  neighbourhood  roused  to  curiosity,  and 
trying  to  find  out  where  you  were  going.  But  it  is 
rather  different  now.  You  have  established  your  posi- 
tion, and  at  worst,  if  by  any  possibility  Peckham  gos- 
sip could  penetrate  to  Mayfair,  it  would  hardly 
be  believed.  My  little  hints  as  to  your  past  are  too 
thoroughly  grounded;  and  it  seems  to  me  that,  after 
your  cousin's  treatment  of  you,  it  would  be  amusing 
to  descend  upon  and  overwhelm  her  with  all  the  gran- 
deur we  can  muster.     I  am  rather  fond  of  amateur 


134  MY  LADY  CLNDERELLA 

theatricals,  when  no  bothering  rehearsals  are  re- 
quired. 

"You  did  overwhelm  Mrs.  Leatherby-Smith,"  I  said, 
laughing. 

"Yes,  the  vulgar  creature.  I  did  it  with  set  pur- 
pose. If  she'd  been  nice  to  you,  we  would  not  only 
have  martyrized  ourselves  by  accepting  her  stupid  invi- 
tation for  dinner,  which  came  a  fortnight  ago,  but 
she  should  have  been  asked  here — on  an  off-day, 
when  no  one  else  was  coming.  She  never  would  have 
finished  talking  of  it  as  long  as  she  lived.  But  she 
bit  off  her  ow^n  head..  I'm  sure  her  mouth  looked  liter- 
ally big  enough  to  do  it.  As  for  your  friend  Miss 
Bryden,  she  really  shall  come  to  you  some  time  when 
we're  not  too  busy.  It  ought  t9  make  her  worth  ten 
pounds  a  year  more  salary  to  the  Smith  woman.  How- 
ever, to  return  to  Peckham ;  you  shall  go  this  morning, 
as  it's  too  dark  and  rainy  for  your  new  photographs 
to  com.e  out  well,  if  you  kept  your  appointment;  the 
artificial  light's  so  horrid.  But  perhaps  you  wouldn't 
mind  driving  down  alone  in  the  brougham,  leaving  me 
first  at  Madame  Escourt's.  I  should  feel  twice  the 
woman  I  do  now  after  an  hour  of  her  electric  massage." 

All  the  naughty  vanity  which  had  been  growing  up 
in  me  during  the  past  few  magical  weeks  took  fire  at 
the  thought  of  appearing  at  Happiholme  a  la  princesse. 
I  well-nigh  forgot  the  importance  of  my  errand  there, 
in  thinking  of  the  impression  I  should  make,  and  I  ran 
eagerly  upstairs  to  get  ready  the  instant  that  Lady 
Sophie  had  risen  from  the  table. 

We    had    breakfasted    in    dainty    muslin    dressing- 


A  SURPRISE  FOR  COUSIIn  SARAH    135 

gowns,  as  no  eyes  but  those  of  the  servants  would 
behold  us,  and  a  particularly  late  night  entitled  us 
to  self-indulgence;  but  I  was  childishly  fastidious  in 
the  matter  of  making  my  toilette  for  Peckham. 

Finally  I  selected  a  smart  little  tailor  frock  of  blue 
cloth,  with  a  toque  to  match,  such  as  no  eye  in  Cousin 
Sarah  East's  street  had  ever  looked  upon.  I  should 
have  liked  an  elaborate  foulard;  but  the  rain  raised 
limitations,  and  since  my  transplantation  I  had  begun 
to  study  appropriateness  as  never  before. 

When  I  was  ready,  I  glanced  at  my  mirrored  re- 
flection, and  smiled  to  think  how  different  was  this 
girl  from  the  one  who  had  driven  forth  from  Happi- 
holme  Villa  a  month  ago. 

Lady  Sophie  had  insisted  from  the  first  on  my  ac- 
cepting an  allowance  of  pin-money,  despite  the  constant 
flow  of  presents  which  never  ran  dry,  therefore  I  was 
never  quite  penniless;  and  now,  when  I  had  dropped 
her  in  Bond  Street,  I  consulted  the  contents  of  my  blue 
monogrammed  purse. 

I  was  the  proud  possessor  of  one  pound  and  several 
odd  shillings,  part  of  which  sum  I  determined  to  spend 
upon  gifts  for  the  three  juvenile  Easts.  I  stopped  the 
brougham  at  a  toy-shop,  again  at  a  confectioner's,  and 
finally  went  on  my  way  with  the  articles  which  I 
remembered  hearing  the  children  say  they  w^ould  prefer 
to  all  others,  reposing  on  the  seat  beside  me.  I  felt 
rich,  happy,  fortunate;  I  could  afford  to  forgive  and 
forget,  and  my  heart  was  soft  even  toward  her  who 
had  persecuted  me  of  old. 

How   strange    it   was    to   see    again    the    dull    gray 


136  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

streets,  once  so  familiar !  Though  five  weeks  ago  they 
had  walled  in  my  existence,  Maj^falr  and  Belgravia  ap- 
peared now  far  more  homelike. 

I  glanced  at  the  little  enam.elled  watch  which  had 
been  a  present  from  Lady  Sophie,  and  discovered  that 
the  Easts  would  be  about  assembling  for  their  mid-day 
meal  by  the  time  I  could  reach  the  house.  But  I 
was  not  sorry  for  this,  as  they  were  the  more  sure 
to  be  at  home.  My  calculations  told  me  also  that 
Mr.  East  was  likely  to  have  returned  from  his  travels, 
and  be  at  rest  for  a  few  days  in  the  bosom  of  his 
family.  I  was  safe  now  from  his  furtive  impertinences, 
therefore  I  was  pleased  that  my  audience  should  be 
increased  by  one. 

The  brougham  turned  into  the  ugly  street,  which 
the  coachman  had  found  only  through  haughty  in- 
quiries, and  drev/  up  before  the  house.  Down  sprang 
the  groom,  opened  the  gate,  ascended  the  steps — "ran 
up"  would  be  inadequate  to  express  William  at  his 
best — and  made  use  of  the  knocker  with  dignified  in- 
sistence. Since  he  must  come  to  such  a  place,  let  it 
be  over  quickly. 

Matty,  the  mald-of-all-work,  answered  the  summons, 
capless,  smudged,  with  samples  of  the  week's  menu  on 
her  apron.  At  sight  of  groom  and  brougham  she 
gasped,  strove  in  vain  for  one  crucial  moment  to  col- 
lect her  scattered  senses,  collapsed  utterly,  and  fell 
back  upon  Mr.  East,  who  had  shuffled  (in  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers)  to  the  rescue. 

Oh,  yes,  Mrs.  East  was  at  home;  and  the  door  of 
the  brougham  was  thrown  open  for  me  by  the  liveried 


A  SURPRISE  FOR  COUSIN  SARAH     137 

one  with  a  flourish.  One  might  almost  have  thought 
that  he  appreciated  the  humour  of  the  situation,  and 
meant  to  play  his  part  in  it  for  all  that  it  was  worth. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  East?"  I  Inquired  on  the 
threshold,  extending  a  perfectly  gloved  hand. 

I  was  conscious  that  a  faint  aroma  of  violets,  an 
indescribable  atmosphere  of  daintiness,  breathed  from 
me,  counteracting  the  frank  declaration  of  fried  steak 
and  onions  in  the  passage.  I  rustled  silkenly  as  I 
moved;  I  was  a  being  from  a  different  world;  yet,  as 
I  looked  round,  the  house  seemed  haunted  by  ghosts  of 
myself — shabby  ghosts,  with  falling  hair,  carrying  the 
squalling  baby;  cooking  gliosts,  taking  Matty's  place  on 
her  day  out;  crying  ghosts,  nagged  into  tears  by  Mrs. 
East's  ill-temper. 

The  image  of  her  vrhlch  my  mind  called  up  only 
preceded  the  reality,  for  she  appeared  at  the  top  of 
the  basement  stairs,  puzzled,  perspiring,  ready  to  be 
wrathful.  But  the  sharp  words  were  strangled  at 
birth. 

"How  do  you  do?"  I  repeated  to  her.  "Oh,  don't 
shut  the  door,  if  you  please.  William  is  just  bringing 
up  a  few  little  presents  I  have  for  the  children." 

As  I  spoke,  William  reappeared,  and  with  conde- 
scension delivered  my  parcels  into  Mr.  East's  nervous 
hands.  The  front-door  closed ;  we  walked  towards  the 
dining-room,  the  lady  of  the  house  being  understood 
to  mxurmur  something  indistinct,  which  sounded  like 
"Well,  I  never!" 

Within  were  the  children,  the  baby  tied  into  a  high- 
chair  at  the  table,  though  the  mid-day  dinner  had  not 


138  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

yet  ceased  to  frizzle  on  the  kitchen  range.  I  bestowed 
a  soldier  cap,  sword,  epaulettes,  and  belt  upon  Jimmy, 
who  forthwith  went  into  spasms  of  delight;  a  French 
doll  was  dealt  out  to  the  more  conservative  Emmy, 
who  w^atched  her  mother  for  a  clue  to  behaviour;  a 
woolly  sheep  that  said  "Baa"  was  pressed  upon  the 
baby;  and  a  box  of  sweets  was  laid  on  the  shrine  of 
all  three. 

"I  haven't  come  to  stop  long,"  I  announced,  strug- 
gling against  the  old  spell  of  servitude  and  habit  that 
would  fain  have  prostrated  me  even  now.  "Don't  let 
me  keep  you  from  your  luncheon" — with  a  faint  em- 
phasis— '"'I  only  want  to  make  arrangements  for  reliev- 
ing you  of  some  of  the  luggage  I  left  here,  which,  of 
course,  you  w^ould  like  to  be  rid  of." 

"Well,  you  do  look  a  toff!"  Mr.  East  ejaculated 
admiringly.  "I  say,  have  you  gone  on  the  stage?" 
(He  pronounced  it  "stayge.") 

Cousin  Sarah  gave  vent  to  a  sound  which  it  would 
be  vulgar,  but  appropriate,  to  describe  as  a  snort. 

"Don't  ask  questions,  Henry.  The  young  lady  may 
consider  you  indiscreet,  having  kept  her  best  friends 
and  only  relatives  in  ignorance  for  so  long  as  to  what 
had  become  of  her." 

"I  didn't  think,  from  what  you  said  when  you  sent 
me  away,  that  you  would  be  very  anxious,"  I  returned, 
quaking  as  of  yore  under  the  glare  of  the  boiled  goose- 
berries. 

"I  hope  that  I  attend  chapel  regularly  every  Sun- 
dayj"  retorted  Mrs.  East;  and  no  doubt  the  remark 
was  intended  to  be  relevant.     "I  know  what  is  due 


A  SURPRISE  FOR  COUSIN  SARAH    139 

to  m^'  religion,  and  I  have  hoped  that  you  might  come 
to  no  bad  end." 

*1  am  very  happy,  thank  you,  visiting  Lady  Sophie 
de  Gretton,  at  her  house  in  Park  Lane,"  I  reassured 
her.  "She  invited  me  the  day  I  went  away  from  here; 
but  you  wouldn't  let  me  tell  you." 

"Wouldn't  let  you,  indeed!"  repeated  Cousin  Sarah. 
"The  ingratitude  of  some  people!  You  can  have  your 
box,  I'm  sure,  with  pleasure;  you  needn't  be  afraid 
that  anything's  been  touched,  except  your  everyday 
frock,  vrhich  I  thought  best  to  give  to  Matty,  with 
some  underclothing  that  came  back  from  the  wash,  and 
a  white  cotton  blouse  which  has  been  made  over  for 
Jimmy." 

"Had  I  anything  beside?  But  it  wasn't  the  clothes 
I  wanted,  thank  you.  It  was  mother's  escritoire.  I'll 
lock  up  the  drawers,  and  then  Carter  Paterson " 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  East  looked  at  each  other.  Jimmy 
began  to  splutter  inarticulately,  but  was  instantly  sup- 
pressed by  a  box  on  the  ear  from  his  mother. 

"It  is  not  convenient  for  me  that  you  should  go 
up  to  the  room  where  the  escritoire  is  to-day,"  said  my 
relative. 

Her  husband's  eyes  grew  large,  and  his  lips  pursed 
themselves  into  a  whistle;  but  Henry  East  knew  his 
position  in  the  family  too  well  to  put  on  commercial- 
traveller  airs  of  independence  at  Happiholme. 

I  was  torn  by  sudden  apprehension.  Something  had 
happened  during  this  period  of  my  neglect  to  the  one 
poor  souvenir  which  I  had  of  my  mother. 

"Will  you  have  the  escritoire  got  ready  yourself, 


I40  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

then,"  I  asked,  "If  I  tell  Carter  Paterson  to  call  this 
afternoon?" 

Mrs.  East  was  very  red  in  the  face  and  breathing 
hard. 

"I  can't  bother  myself  about  trifles  at  such  notice," 
she  protested.  ''Some  day,  when  I've  nothing  more 
important  to  do,  I  may  be  able  to  see  to  it.  You  don't 
want  that  ugly  old  escritoire  any  more  than  a  cat  wants 
two  tails.     It's  just  your  aggravatingness." 

*'I  do  want  it!  I  must  have  it!"  I  courageously 
insisted.  "If  you  can't  promise  what  I  ask,  I  must 
go  up  now " 

"WTiose  house  is  it?"  demanded  my  cousin  Sarah, 
planting  her  expansive  person  before  the  door.  "I 
tell  you  I  won't  have  you  going  upstairs.  You've  no 
right.  If  you  try,  I'll  have  you  turned  out  by  a 
policeman  for  trespassing — yes,  I  will,  Henry  East. 
Don't  you  look  at  me  like  that!  You  shall  have  the 
escritoire  when  I'm  good  and  ready,  and  not  a  minute 
before." 

I  gazed  at  her  helplessly;  and  Indeed  I  felt  helpless, 
for  I  did  not  know  what  to  do.  I  had  always  been 
afraid  of  Cousin  Sarah  East,  and  I  was  afraid  of  her 
now ;  for  I  found  that  it  took  more  than  a  smart  frock 
and  a  brougham  to  deliver  me  from  a  mental  yoke  of 
bondage.  If  I  tried  to  defy  her,  and  fight  my  way 
through,  there  was  no  doubt  that  I  should  be  routed 
with  great  slaughter. 

She  would  not  hesitate  to  seize  me  by  my  gown, 
and  rend  it  off  my  back,  in  defence  of  her  fortress; 
which  would  be  ignominious  for  me,  and  avail  nothing 


A  SURPRISE  FOR  COUSIN  SARAH    141 

to  the  cause.  Mr.  East,  though  he  might  be  with  me 
in  spirit,  would  be  passive  in  body;  and  I  could  not 
well  call  William  to  my  succour.  After  all,  it  seemed 
that  I  had  come  in  vain,  and  must  retire  vanquished. 

To  add  to  m.y  embarrassment,  at  this  moment  of 
indecision  Matty  brought  in  the  dinner,  piled  with 
great  skill  on  one  tray,  several  sizes  too  large  for  her 
workworn  hands.  At  sight  of  me,  transformed  from 
Cinderella  to  the  princess,  her  nervous  attack  returned, 
and  she  would  have  dropped  the  paraphernalia  of  the 
feast  had  not  her  master  sprung  to  save  it  while  her 
mistress  shrieked.  The  scene  degenerated  to  farce- 
comedy;  with  the  steam  of  steak  and  onions  in  my 
nostrils,  I  could  not  continue  the  argument  in  justice 
to  myself,  and  I  retired  with  such  dignity  as  I  had  left. 

"I  will  send  Carter  Paterson  this  afternoon,"  I 
said,  "and  if  the  escritoire  is  not  then  ready,  I  must 
— er — I  will  take  steps " 

I  nearly  tumbled  over  the  door-sill  in  backing  out 
for  my  exit,  regained  my  balance,  and  found  myself 
in  the  passage  with  the  dining-room  door  slammed  in 
my  face,  before  I  quite  understood  what  had  happened. 

I  did  not  know  what  the  dubious  expression  on 
the  features  of  William  signified  until  he  had  enclosed 
me  in  the  brougham ;  but  then  I  guessed,  for  there  was 
Jimmy  East  crouching  on  the  floor. 

*'Oh,  don't  put  me  out,  Con,"  he  pleaded.  "The 
Johnny  wasn't  goin'  to  let  me  in,  but  I  said  I  was 
your  best  friend,  and  you'd  told  me  to  come.  You  see, 
'twas  my  only  chance  to  get  at  you  by  yourself,  and 
IVe  got  the  importantest  thing  to  tell  you." 


142  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

"Your  mother  will  be  dreadfully  angry  with  you, 
and  me  too,  Jimmy,"  I  objected. 

"I  don't  care.  It's  always  something — might  as  well 
be  one  thing  as  another.  Besides,  she  won't  know^  I'm 
with  you.  She'll  just  think  I  hooked  it  when  she 
wasn't  lookin',  for  she  was  mad  with  me  this  mornin' 
for  stickin'  up  for  you,  and  I  wasn't  to  have  had  my 
dinner  any  how,  'cept  a  piece  of  bread.  Let  me  go 
with  you  a  little  way,  then  I'll  jump  out  and  run 
home." 

"I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do!"  I  cried.  "We'll  have 
luncheon  together  somewhere.  Just  a  short  lunch,  for  I 
shouldn't  like  to  keep  the  carriage  waiting  too 
long." 

Jimmy  looked  ecstatic,  and  could  scarcely  speak  for 
joy.  When  we  came  to  a  pastrycook's  of  respectable 
appearance — a  place  I,  in  common  with  the  little  boy, 
had  once  regarded  as  quite  a  palace  of  luxury — I  rang 
the  electric  bell,  w^hich  informed  the  coachman  that  I 
wished  to  stop.  Jimmy  and  I  got  out,  and  presently 
were  seated  at  a  damp  table,  which  imitated  marble, 
with  heaped-up  plates  of  vanilla  ice  and  strawberries 
before  us. 

"Now,  my  dear  manny,  kindly  don't  choke  yourself 
to  death  until  you  have  told  me  that  'importantest 
thing,'  "  I  warned  my  companion. 

"It's  about  your  eskertore,"  carefully  pronounced 
Jimmy,  with  his  mouth  too  full  for  utterance.  "Ma 
told  you — well,  what  you  used  to  call  a  'tarradiddle,' 
because  it  wasn't  polite  to  say  'lie.'  The  eskertore  isn't 
upstairs  in  our  room  any  more,  at  all." 


A  SURPRISE  FOR  COUSIN  SARAH    145 

"What's  become  of  it?"   I  questioned  eagerly. 

"Well,  it's  an  awful  long  story,  for  there's  such  a 
lot  of  other  things  mixed  up  in  it,  you  know." 

I  wished  that  I  did  know ;  but  I  had  to  bide  Jimmy's 
time  in  simulated  patience. 

"Will  you  begin  at  the  beginning,  then,  dear,"  I 
suggested,  "and  tell  it  that  way?  I'll  try  not  to  inter- 
rupt." 

Jimmy  nodded,  and  swallowed  manfully. 

"The  beginning  was  just  after  you  went  out  of 
the  house  that  evenin'.  My  goodness!  it  seems  'most 
a  year  ago,  but  I  s'pose  it  can't  be,  eh  ?  Anyhow,  ma 
went  tearin'  round  just  like  a  chicken  what's  had  its 
head  chopped  off  and  ain't  quite  sure  it's  dead.  She 
dumped  the  baby  on  the  bed  and  ran  to  the  front- 
room  to  look  outer  the  window  after  you.  She  didn't 
think  at  first  you'd  truly  gone.  But  bimeby  she  came 
back,  and  then  she  started  throwin'  your  things  on  the 
floor.  At  last  she  opened  the  drawers  of  your  esker- 
tore.  'Twasn't  locked,  though  the  key  w^as  stickin'  in 
it,  as  it  always  was.  She  read  some  letters  that  was 
there  in  a  bundle,  and  slapped  me  because  I  said  she 
was  a  sneak." 

"They  were  only  letters  from  Anne  Bryden  and  her 
mother,"  I  laughed  bitterly.  "I  had  no  one  else  to 
write  to  me,  my  little  champion." 

"Anyhow,  she  tore  'em  up  and  stamped  on  'em. 
Then  she  stood  lookin'  at  the  desk  in  a  queer  sort  of 
way,  with  her  eyes  snappin'.  'I  won't  have  the  thing 
here,  takin*  up  house  room  for  nothin','  says  she. 
(Jimmy  was  a  born  mimic.)        'What  I'll  do  is  to  sell 


144  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

it  to  Sam  Moss,  the  old  furniture  dealer,  round  the 
corner.'  " 

I  had  nearl)^  cried  in  wrath;  but  I  remembered  my 
promise  not  to  interrupt. 

"She  said  first  I  was  to  run  over  to  his  shop,  and 
ask  him  to  come  and  look  at  it  straight  off.  But  then 
she  changed  her  mind,  and  thought  she'd  go  herself, 
because  she  wanted  to  see  if  he  had  anything  she'd 
like  to  change  it  for.  She  put  on  her  hat,  and  never 
knew  Emmy  and  me  had  come  along,  till  we  was  all 
at  the  shop.  You  know  how  late  old  Moss  keeps  open 
nights,  but  he'd  have  been  shut  up  in  ten  minutes.  Ma 
told  him  what  she  wanted,  and  when  she'd  described 
the  eskertore.  Moss  said  it  wouldn't  be  much  good  to 
him;  he  hardly  ever  got  asked  for  that  sort  of  desk; 
but  to  please  a  neighbour  she  might  have  a  big  stand- 
ing-lamp with  a  torn  red  shade  that  was  in  a  corner 
of  the  shop;  that  is,  if  the  eskertore  was  as  good  as 
she  said  it  was  when  he  saw  it. 

"Ma  was  awful  pleased  about  the  lamp,  for  she'd 
always  wanted  one,  and  she  made  Sam  Moss  go  home 
with  her  that  minute,  while  his  w^ife  looked  after  the 
shop.  Em  and  me  went  up  in  our  room  when  ma 
took  Moss  there  to  see  the  desk,  and  his  eyes  kind 
of  lit  up,  though  I  could  tell  he  didn't  want  ma  to 
know  he  was  pleased.  He'd  said  before  he  couldn't 
send  for  the  thing  that  night,  but  he  changed  round, 
and  told  her  he'd  have  it  fetched  at  once.  The  boy 
who  came  with  the  hand-cart  should  bring  the  lamp 
at  the  same  time. 

"When  he  w^nt  I  ran  after,  and  told  him  he'd  be 


A  SURPRISE  FOR  COUSIN  SARAH    145 

a  bad  man  if  he  took  that  eskertore,  'cause  It  was 
yours,  and  not  ma's  to  sell.  But  he  shrugged  up  his 
fat  shoulders,  and  grinned  with  his  yellow  teeth,  and 
said  that  was  ma's  business,  not  his  or  mine,  and  little 
boys  should  be  seen  and  not  heard.  What  an  old  stupid 
not  to  know  that's  for  girls,  not  boys!  Anyhow,  he 
had  the  desk  fetched  away,  though  I  made  a  row,  and 
got  sent  to  bed  without  my  supper.  I  tell  you,  I  cried 
'cause  it  was  the  first  time  I  could  ever  remember  when 
you  hadn't  let  me  say  my  prayers  by  your  knee,  and 
tucked  me  in  afterwards,  and  kissed  me  good-night. 
But  ma  never  knew  that  I  so  much  as  snivelled." 

"Dear  old  loyal  Jim!"  I  exclaimed.  ''Thank  you 
for  telling  me  all  this;  for  now  the  only  thing  I  have 
to  do  is  to  go  to  Moss's  and  buy  back  the  escritoire. 
I'm  sure  the  lady  I'm  visiting  will  do  that  for  me; 
and,  as  the  man  only  bought  it  to  please  your  mother^ 
he  can't  charge  so  very  much." 

"I  bet  that  was  a  'tarradiddle,'  too!  But  you 
haven't  heard  all  my  story  yet.  Con ;  the  queer  part's 
to  come.  It  began  next  morning.  I  was  wheeling 
baby  in  the  pram  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  door, 
w^hile  ma  did  some  of  the  work  that  used  to  be  yours 
(and  pretty  sick  she  was  about  it,  too),  when  an  old 
gentleman  drove  up  in  a  hansom.  He  didn't  seem  quite 
sure  of  the  house  at  first,  but  looked  all  round,  and 
when  he  saw  me  he  asked  if  I  knew  a  young  lady 
named  Brand.  I  said  I  did,  that  you  v/ere  my  cousin, 
though  my  mother  didn't  like  you  called  so,  and  that 
you'd  gone  away  the  night  before.  Where  had  you 
gone?  said  he,  and  gave  me  a  shillin'.     I  didn't  know. 


146  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

said  I,  and  put  the  shillin'  in  my  pocket.  Then  he 
inquired  if  my  mother  was  in.  He  wouldn't  give  any 
name,  but  said  he  had  'portant  business,  and  I  took 
him  in  the  parlour.  Ma  dressed  herself  before  she 
came  down,  so  I  talked  to  the  man,  and  he  asked 
me  a  lot  of  questions,  mostly  about  you.  When  ma 
opened  the  door,  I  made  as  if  I  was  going  out,  but 
while  she  said  'How  de  do?'  and  neither  of  'em  was 
lookin',  I  just  slipped  under  the  table — the  one  with 
the  long  red  cloth — and   I  heard  everything." 

"What  was  the  gentleman  like?"  I  inquired. 

"Pretty  old,  with  nice  clothes,  and  a  tall,  shiny  hat, 
and  gold  watch-chain.  Oh,  he'd  got  spectacles  with 
gold  rims,  too! — dark  sort  of  spectacles,  that  wouldn't 
let  you  see  his  eyes  very  well.  And  side-whiskers  gray 
like  his  hair." 

"Mr.  Wynnstay!"  I  muttered  below  my  breath. 

And   my    interest   in   Jimmy's   narrative   increased. 

"What's  a  solicitor?"  suddenly  queried  the  little 
boy.  "Oh,  only  a  lawyer!  Well,  that's  w^hat  the  old 
gentleman  was.  He  told  ma,  and  said  that  he  was 
looking  for  someone  named  Brand,  because  there 
might  be — might  be  'something  to  her  'vantage.'  Ma 
pricked  up  her  ears,  and  began  to  talk  about  how 
much  she'd  done  for  you  ever  since  j^our  mother  died; 
and  if  there  was  any  money  coming  to  you,  she  ought 
to  have  some  of  it.  The  old  gentleman  was  very 
polite,  and  said  he  thought  so,  too.  It  all  depended 
on  whether  you  had  papers  to  prove  what  'branch  of 
the  fam'ly'  you  came  down  from,  or  something  like 
that — only  fam'lies  don't  grow  on  branches,  do  they? 


A  SURPRISE  FOR  COUSIN  SARAH     147 

"He  asked  ma  if  you  had  a  lot  of  old  letters  and 
fam'ly  papers,  and  she  shook  her  head;  she  was  sure 
you  hadn't  anything  of  the  kind,  or  she'd  have  known 
about  it  long  ago.  Your  mother,  when  she  was  alive, 
was  always  hintin'  about  great  things  that  might  be 
comin'  to  you  in  the  future;  but  ma  hadn't  believed 
a  word  of  it.  Your  mother  never  had  a  penny  to 
bless  herself  with  after  she  came  back  from  Australia, 
or  America,  or  somewhere,  a  widow  with  one  little 
girl,  and  her  nice  looks  and  her  health  all  gone. 

"Perhaps  ma  was  mistaken,  the  old  gentleman  said, 
so  pleasant  and  soft.  Maybe  you'd  had  papers  put 
away  in  some  box  or  piece  of  furniture.  Wasn't  there 
anything  of  that  kind  you'd  taken  with  you  or  left 
behind  at  our  house  ?  There  was  a  eskertore,  ma  told 
him ;  but  she'd  searched  every  drawer  when  you'd  gone, 
and  there  was  nothing  except  a  few  silly  letters  from 
a  girl  you  knew,  called  Bryden. 

"The  old  gentleman  kept  playin'  with  his  hat;  I 
could  see  him  from  under  the  tablecloth,  but  once  in 
a  while  he'd  look  up  through  the  glasses  awful  sharp. 
He  looked  up  like  that  when  ma  spoke  about  the 
eskertore.  He  asked  if  ma'd  let  him  see  it,  because, 
he  said,  there  might  be  some  crest  (whatever  that  is), 
or  other  sort  of  mark,  which  would  tell  him  whether 
you  belonged  to  the  right  family,  and  might  come  in 
for  a  little  money  bimeby. 

"Ma  hummed  and  hawed,  feelin'  pretty  queer  to 
think  she'd  sold  your  desk,  I  bet;  but  she  wouldn't 
tell  what  she'd  done.  It  was  yours,  she  said,  and 
she  didn't  know  if  she  ought  to  show  it  without  your 


148  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

consent.  But  didn't  she  just  jump  when  he  cried  out 
he'd  give  five  pounds  for  only  a  look  at  the  thing. 
That  old  lamp  she'd  got  couldn't  have  cost  more  'n 
a  pound  when  'twas  new,  so  it  served  her  jolly  well 
right !  I  wondered  whatever  she  would  be  up  to  next ; 
but  she  sat  still,  thinkin' ;  and  then,  saj^s  she,  if  he'd 
wait  a  few  minutes,  she'd  try  and  arrange  for  him  to 
see  the  eskertore. 

''Then  I  knew  what  she  meant  to  do:  she  was  goin' 
round  to,  Sam  Moss's  to  buy  the  desk  back.  She 
went  out  of  the  room,  and  bimeby  I  heard  the  front- 
door shut,  awful  sly.  The  man  might  have  seen  ma 
slip  past  if  he'd  looked  out  of  the  window,  but  he 
didn't;  he  just  walked  up  and  down,  with  his  hands 
behind  his  back,  and  once  in  a  while  he  said  something 
to  himself  that  I  couldn't  hear,  only  just  the  word 
'luck.' 

"Ma  was  gone  a  long  time,  and  I  got  thinking  to 
myself,  maybe  Moss  wouldn't  let  her  have  the  desk 
back,  and  she'd  be  ashamed  to  tell  she'd  sold  it,  and 
then  the  old  gentleman  couldn't  find  out  what  he 
wanted;  so  you'd  never  get  the  money  he  said  might 
be  coming  to  you  if  you  was  the  right  branch.  That 
made  me  wild,  so  thinks  I  to  myself,  'Better  take  the 
last  chance  you'll  have  before  ma  comes  back';  and 
out  I  crawls  from  under  the  table. 

"The  man  looked  kind  of  queer  at  first,  and  scowled 
through  his  big  spectacles,  but  when  he'd  heard  what 
I  had  to  say  he  was  glad  and  thanked  me.  Before  I'd 
speak  out  I  made  him  promise  he  wouldn't  let  ma 
know  I'd  been  under  the  table  or  told  him  anj'thing; 


A  SURPRISE  FOR  COUSIN  SARAH    149 

and  I'd  hardly  finished  when  I  spied  her  comin'  in 
the  gate  as  I  peered  through  the  window.  With  that 
I  scooted  into  the  passage  before  she  could  get  to 
the  door. 

"Her  face  was  cross  enough  to  stop  a  clock,  but 
she  didn't  speak  a  word  to  me,  and  I  didn't  know 
what  she'd  told  the  old  gentleman.  But  I  was  just 
goin'  to  know,  so  I  went  out  into  the  street  and  hung 
round  where  nobody  could  spy  me  from  the  house, 
though  I  could  see  anyone  who  passed  through  the  gate. 

"I  hadn't  been  many  minutes  when  the  man  came 
out.  He'd  sent  away  his  cab  when  he  heard  ma  was 
at  home,  so  he  had  to  get  another,  and  while  he  was 
walkin'  slowly  along  I  said,  'Hullo,  sir!'  and  made 
him  jump.  'Oh,  I  was  lookln'  for  you,  little  chap,' 
says  he.  'I'll  give  yer  another  bob  if  you'll  take  me 
round  to  that  shop  where  the  desk  was  sold.'  'Right 
you  are,'  says  I.  And  I  asked  him  if  ma'd  told  about 
sellin'  it.     'No,  she  had'nt,'  said  he. 

"She  made  up  a  story  about  consultin'  a  friend  of 
hers,  and  they'd  both  come  to  the  'elusion  she  hadn't 
ought  to  show  your  property  to  a  stranger  without 
writin'  to  you.  So  now  he  wanted  to  see  the  furniture 
man.  I  was  pretty  sure  then  somethin'  was  wrong, 
though  I  didn't  know  what.  But  we  found  out  in 
a  minute  at  Moss's.  Whatever  do  you  think  had 
happened.  Con?" 

"The  '»scr\^o>re  was  broken,  or  burned,  or " 

"No.  §o«^body'd  been  in  already  and  bought  it, 
only  'bo»n  f**vo  hours  before.  That  was  why  ma'd 
had  to  ly'^ke  'Ap  her — tarradiddle,  to  save  herself  from 


i5o  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

lookin'  a  fool.  My  goodness,  you'd  ought  to  have  seen 
the  old  gentleman's  face!  He  got  quite  white,  and 
when  he  began  to  ask  questions  he  stammered  and 
stuttered  before  he  could  speak  straight.  'Was  it  a 
dealer  bought  the  desk?'  he  wanted  to  know.  'No, 
'twas  a  private  gent,'  said  Sam  Moss — somebody  he'd 
never  seen  before. 

"A  'gent' — that's  what  Moss  called  it — came  saun- 
tering along,  looked  in  the  shop  window,  asked  the 
price  of  some  things,  and  then  set  eyes  on  the  eskertore. 
'How  much  was  that?'  says  he.  'Twenty  pounds,' 
says  Moss.  (Oh,  my  aunt,  mustn't  ma  have  been  sick 
if  he  let  that  out  to  her!)  And  like  a  shot  the  gent 
paid  the  money.  Moss  would  have  sent  the  desk,  he 
told  us,  but  the  gent  got  a  growler,  and  took  it  away 
wath  him.     That's  everything  Moss  knew. 

"My  old  man  thought  for  a  while,  and  calmed  down 
a  bit;  then  he  gave  Moss  some  money,  quite  a  lot  it 
looked,  and  told  him  to  advertize  for  the  cabman  who 
drove  the  gent  and  the  eskertore.  'Here's  my  card,' 
says  he,  "and  if  you  hear,  5^ou  can  let  me  know.  But 
the  job's  for  you  to  work.  I  want  the  desk,  but  I'm 
a  busy  m.an,  and  I  haven't  time  to  bother,  nor  I  don't 
care  to  appear;  it's  better  for  a  man  of  business.  If 
you  can  get  that  eskertore  back  for  me,  as  I've  taken 
such  a  fancy  to  have  it,  you  can  pay  up  to  a  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds,  and  I'll  give  you  thirty  more  for 
yourself.* 

"Moss  promised  to  do  what  he  could,  and  said  he'd 
leave  'no  stone  unturned,'  or  somethin'  like  that.  Then 
my  old  gentleman  was  goin'  away,  and  would  have  for- 


A  SURPRISE  FOR  COUSIN  SARAH    151 

got  all  about  me  and  the  bob  I  was  to  have  If  I  hadn't 
reminded  him.  I  don't  b'lieve  he  was  very  glad  to 
see  me  again,  but  he  gave  me  the  money,  and  jumped 
Into  a  cab  that  was  passin'  slowly  by.  That's  all 
the  story.  Con,  but  I  thought  you'd  like  to  know.  And 
so,  you  see,  it's  no  good  sendin'  Carter  Pat'son  to  our 
house." 

"No,  it's  no  good,"  I  echoed  reflectively.  ''Thank 
you,  Jimmy,  a  hundred  times,  for  looking  after  my 
interests  so  well.  You're  a  dear  boy,  and  some  time, 
maybe,  I  can  do  something  for  you  to  make  up." 

"If  you  ever  get  a  house  of  your  own,  p'raps  you'll 
have  me  to  visit  you,"  he  suggested. 

"Indeed  I  will.  I  should  like  to  have  you  to  stop 
all  the  time,  for  you  and  I  have  been  good  pals, 
haven't  we,  Jimmy?  If  I  wTOte  to  you  once  In  a  while, 
I  wonder  If  your  mother  would  let  you  have  the 
letters?" 

"Not  she.  She'd  make  curl-papers  of  'em  for  her 
front  hair,  like  as  not.  Anyhow,  I  shouldn't  see  'em. 
But  if  I  wanted  to  let  you  know  anything,  I  could 
nick  a  stamp  and  some  paper,  and  I  could  print  you 
a  letter,  though  I  can't  w^Ite  so  very  well  yet.  You 
just  tell  me  w^here  you  live,  and  I'll  say  it  over  and 
over  to  myself,  till  I  know  It  by  heart  and  can't 
forget." 

I  told  him  the  street  and  the  number,  gave  him 
money  to  ride  home  In  a  tram — our  pastrycook  was 
not  far  from  the  street  honoured  by  Happiholme 
Villa — and  five  minutes  later  I  was  rolling  smoothly 
away  in  the  brougham  towards  Park  Lane. 


152  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

My  brain  buzzed  with  conflicting  thoughts.  I 
deeply  regretted  having  lost  the  escritoire,  but  my 
distress  was  well-nigh  overshadowed  by  the  amaze- 
ment I  felt  at  the  curious  train  of  circumstances  which 
complicated  my  loss. 

**I  am  the  girl  about  whom  Lady  Dunbar  was 
speaking  that  night,"  I  exclaimed,  half  aloud.  "It 
must  be  so.  The  concidence  vvould  be  too  extraordin- 
ary otherwise,  as  everything  has  now  turned  out.  And 
it  was  Mr.  Wynnstay  who  was  with  her,  behind  the 
curtain.  I  don't  w^onder  so  much  that  I  didn't  recog- 
nise his  voice,  for  he  spoke  in  such  a  low,  bass  grumble, 
as  if  he  could  not  quite  depend  upon  her  assurance 
about  the  locked  door.  But  I  did  think,  even  then, 
that  the  voice  sounded  familiar.  Let  me  see — if  I  can 
—how  does  it  all  work  together?     What  does  it  all 


CHAPTER   XV 

LINKS   IN    A    CHAIN 

I  SENT  my  mind  back  to  collect  each  trifling  detail 
that  had  formed  a  link  in  the  chain  of  Fate  since  the 
day  when  I  had  received  my  astonishing  invitation 
from  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton  in  the  Park.  And  then, 
when  I  had  them  all  before  me,  I  tried  to  join  them 
together  in  something  like  proper  sequence.  But  I 
was  very  young,  and  I  had  had  no  previous  experience 
as  an  amateur  detective. 

If  I  had  not  been  mistaken,  if  Mr.  Wynnstay  had 
really  attempted  to  drug  me  at  Holland  Park  Man- 
sions that  memorable  night,  it  seemed  certain  either 
that  he  had  wished  to  do  me  some  serious  harm,  or 
else  that  he  had  intended  to  search  my  pockets  for 
papers  which  he  was  desperately  anxious  to  discover. 
These  were  the  only  reasons  for  such  a  course  that 
occurred  to  me. 

Then  I  found,  in  trying  to  recall  them  one  by  one, 
that  I  could  not  accurately  remember  the  words  ex- 
changed by  Lady  Dunbar  and  her  companion  behind 
the  curtain.  I  had  not  charged  my  mind  with  them 
as  I  might  had  I  believed  at  the  time  that  their  pur- 
port could  intimately  concern  me,  and  I  had  now  only 
the  impression  left  that  Lady  Dunbar  had  resented  the 
power  which  the  owner  of  a  certain  escritoire  might 
153 


154  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

exert  over  her.  She  had  consulted  Mr.  Wynnstay 
confidentially,  and  he  had  been  of  the  opinion  that 
much  depended  on  papers  in  the  aforesaid  person's  pos- 
session, that  person  being  mentioned  by  him  as  "the 
girl,"  by  Lady  Dunbar  as  "the  creature." 

Now,  I  assuredly  was  a  girl,  but  to  my  idea  of  my- 
self the  description  "creature"  was  far  from  applicable. 
I  had  never  harmed  Lady  Dunbar,  and  could  not  see 
how  I  should  be  able  to  do  so  even  if  I  would.  Her 
daughter  disliked  me,  I  felt  instinctively,  though  she 
had  sought  my  society  with  some  assiduity  during  the 
few  weeks  of  our  acquaintance.  But  that  was  dif- 
ferent. Lady  Sophie's  scarcely-veiled  hints  had  set  me 
blushing  for  the  motive  which  might  inspire  antagon- 
ism in  Miss  Dunbar's  heart. 

Why,  I  knew  not,  but  Mr.  Wynnstay  and  Lady 
Dunbar  apparently  had  some  common  interest  in  my 
affairs.  Both  had  given  evidence  of  wishing  to  fight 
against  me  rather  than  for  me,  if  I  could  trust  to  my 
poor  deductions;  yet  Mr.  Wynnstay,  supposing  it  were 
he,  had  gone  to  Happiholme  Villa  announcing  that  he 
had  information  which  "might  be  to  my  advantage." 

The  more  I  thought,  the  m.ore  tangled  grew  the 
coil  in  my  brain;  yet  I  did  begin  to  wonder  if  I 
were  going  to  prove  rather  an  important  young  person, 
after  all.  At  any  rate,  it  seemed  clear  that  Mr.  Wynn- 
stay and  Lady  Dunbar  believed  themselves  possessed 
of  a  knowledge  of  ray  past.  It  might  be  that  I  was 
not  the  girl  they  supposed  me  to  be,  for,  as  Jim.my 
had  said,  perhaps  I  didn't  belong  to  the  "right  branch 
of  the  family." 


LINKS  IN  A  CHAIN  155 

But  they  were  taking  something  for  granted,  I 
thought,  and  I  would  do  the  same.  Possibly,  if  I 
proved  to  be  of  significance  in  their  lives,  I  might 
come  into  money  which  Lady  Dunbar  considered  that 
she  and  her  daughter  ought  to  inherit.  Such  things 
did  happen  sometimes,  and  my  dear  mother  had  always 
been  reserved,  even  with  me,  so  that  I  knew  next  to 
nothing  of  my  antecedents. 

Lady  Dunbar  had  admitted  that  I  resembled  some- 
one she  had  formerly  known,  and  though  I  could  not 
prove  that  her  story  about  her  charitable  visit  to  Peck- 
ham  was  a  fabrication  to  cover  her  real  motive,  I  was 
surer  than  ever  now  that  she  had  deliberately  followed 
me  home. 

The  telegram  which  I  had  seen  her  writing,  it 
suddenly  struck  me,  had  probably  been  sent  to  Mr. 
Wynnstay.  Perhaps  he  had  not  been  at  home  when 
it  arrived;  for  much  later,  when  I  had  first  seen  him, 
on  the  point  of  leaving  Holland  Park  Mansions,  I  now 
remembered  that  he  had  been  crushing  something 
which  looked  like  a  telegram  in  his  hand. 

If  this  had  been  a  message  concerning  me,  how 
extraordinary  a  coincidence  it  must  have  seemed  to  him 
at  that  moment  that  I  should  walk  alm.ost  into  his 
arms!  The  resemblance  which  had  impressed  Lady 
Dunbar  at  first  sight  must  have  been  evident  to  Mr. 
Wynnstay  as  well,  or  he  would  not  have  immediately 
taken  measures  for  detaining  me — measures  which,  at 
the  beginning  of  the  scene  between  us,  I  had  attributed 
to  a  stranger's  kindness  of  heart. 

I  now  fancied  that,  in  obedience  to  the  telegram,  the 


156  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

man  had  gone  to  Happlholme  Villa  at  the  earliest  prac- 
ticable hour  on  the  following  morning.  He  had  already 
seen  me,  and  been  aware,  therefore,  of  my  absence  the 
night  before,  though  he  had  not  necessarily  known  that 
it  would  be  permanent. 

He  had  doubtless  obtained  at  the  house  in  Peckham 
a  good  deal  of  information  regarding  me,  w^hich  Jimmy, 
with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world,  had  neglected  to 
dilate  upon  in  his  narrative;  he  had  been  willing  to 
pay  the  sum  of  five  pounds  merely  to  obtain  a  glimpse 
of  the  escritoire,  and  nearly  two  hundred  to  possess  it. 

Question  myself  as  I  might,  I  could  not  find  a  rea- 
son substantial  enough  to  explain  such  extravagant 
eagerness.  I  had  never  supposed  that  the  poor  little 
piece  of  furniture,  which  I  treasured  in  memory  of  my 
mother,  was  of  much  intrinsic  value.  It  was  antique, 
I  knew,  but  I  was  meagerly  instructed  in  such  mat- 
ters. I  thought  I  had  heard  mother  say  that  the  escri- 
toire, which  had  been  hers  since  I  could  remember,  w^as 
Chippendale ;  but  Chippendale  meant  little  more  to  my 
ignorance  than  bamboo;  and,  besides,  the  desk  showed 
the  wear  and  tear  of  life  at  Happiholme. 

The  dog's  teeth,  the  baby's  drumsticks,  Emmy's  pen- 
cils, and  Jimmy's  penknife,  had  all  left  their  traces 
upon  it  from  time  to  time,  to  say  nothing  of  an  ink-bot- 
tle which  an  unexpected  tap  on  my  elbow  had  once 
caused  me  to  upset.  Notwithstanding  these  things  a  pre- 
sumably disinterested  "private  gent"  had  considered 
the  thing  worth  twenty  pounds  and  a  four-wheeled 
cab,  while  Mr.  Wynnstay  had  turned  pale  over  its  loss. 

No  doubt  the  latter  had  supposed  that  I  kept  im- 


LINKS  IN  A  CHAIN  157 

portant  papers  locked  away  in  it,  refusing  to  credit 
Mrs.  East's  perfectly  true  statement  that  every  drawer 
was  empty,  save  for  Anne's  letters.  His  explanation 
that  the  desk  itself  was  to  be  taken  as  proof  of 
my  identity  seemed  too  far  fetched,  and  I  did  not 
credit  it. 

I  blushed  a  little  as  I  told  myself  that  Mr.  Wynn- 
stay  had  in  all  probability  retailed  what  he  had  heard 
of  me  to  Lady  Dunbar  and  "Diana,"  as  the  younger 
woman  had  invited  me  to  call  her.  Whatever  else 
they  might  or  might  not  know  of  me,  they  were  prob- 
ably aware  that,  instead  of  being  the  high-born  young 
orphan  heiress  from  the  countrjr,  whom  Lady  Sophie 
de  Gretton  had  taken  under  her  wing  for  the  season 
because  of  an  old  friendship,  I  was  only  a  little  insig- 
nificance plucked  by  the  hand  of  eccentric  charity  from 
nursery-governessing  in  the  wilds  of  Peckham. 

My  evasions  of  Lady  Dunbar's  rather  pointed  ques- 
tions regarding  the  frequency  of  my  visits  to  that 
neighbourhood  had  availed  nothing.  Doubtless,  when 
Lady  Dunbar  asked  them  she  was  already  acquainted 
with  the  truth  from  that  mysterious  person,  Mr. 
Wynnstay.  How  she  and  Diana,  the  only  enemies 
I  had  made  in  the  new  world  (which  was  not  to  be 
all  sunshine  for  me),  must  laugh  when  they  heard  the 
stories  Lady  Sophie  had  carefully  set  afloat  concerning 
my  past ! 

They  might  tell  what  they  knew  (and  this  reflec- 
tion brought  another  blush),  putting  me  to  shame 
among  my  smart  acquaintances.  But,  on  the  whole, 
I  hardly  fancied  that  they  would  proceed  to  this  ex- 


158  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

treme  without  sharp  provocation.  If  It  were  Lady 
Dunbar's  metier  to  deny  having  followed  me  to  Peck- 
ham,  to  disavow  all  personal  Interest  In  me  and  my 
antecedents  (lest  I  should  be  put  on  the  track  of 
rights  noy  iknown  to  me,  and  strive  to  claim  them), 
she  would  not  wish  to  admit  a  knowledge  of  what  my 
life  had  been  before  I  burst  upon  society  as  "one  of 
Lady  Sophie's  debutantes." 

I  ought  not  to  have  cared  who  knew  the  story  of 
my  perfectly  respectable,  blankly  monotonous  years  at 
Peckham.  I  had  earned  my  living  honestly  and  by 
hard  work,  which  was  more  than  could  be  said  of  many 
among  my  new  friends.  But,  though  I  had  not  to 
repent  having  circulated  false  reports  concerning  my- 
self, my  growing  vanity  had  led  me  to  accept  without 
protest  Lady  Sophie's  version  of  my  history;  and  now 
I  owned  to  my  conscience  that  I  would  be  mortified  If 
she  Were  contradicted,  and  the  bald  truth  ruthlessly 
bruited  about. 

The  only  real  decision  which  I  had  arrived  at  by 
the  time  I  reached  Park  Lane  was  to  tell  my  patroness 
Jimmy's  story,  and  let  her  sharp  wits  supplement  my 
Inexperienced  efforts  at  deduction. 

I  had  started  out  at  twelve  o'clock,  and  It  w^as  two 
when  I  returned.  Lady  Sophie  was  ready  for  lunch- 
eon, and  pronounced  herself  starved;  but  my  part  as 
narrator,  and  hers  as  listener,  after  all,  prevented  our 
doing  justice  to  the  dainty  odds  and  ends  with  which 
her  cook  had  studied  our  feminine  appetites. 

Eventually,  however,  though  her  opinions  largely 
coincided  with  mine,  they  proved  disappointing  to  my 


LINKS  IN  A  CHAIN  159 

expectations,  for  she  had  no  brilliant  light  to  throw 
on  the  matter. 

The  principal  question  appeared  to  be:  Had  I 
evidence  to  show  who  I  was,  or  who  my  father's  people 
had  been,  as  the  other  side,  judging  fro  «-he  Easts, 
did  not  seem  particularly  promising.  If  I  nad  proofs, 
it  might  be  worth  while  to  spend  a  little  money  in 
having  the  affair  sifted,  and  find  out  whether  I  could 
lay  claim  to  the  advantages  of  which  the  Dunbars  or 
others  would  fain  deprive  me.  Lady  Sophie  had  read 
of  such  things;  there  were  always  advertisements  in 
papers  requesting  missing  heirs  to  come  forward ;  and 
who  could  tell  but  I  might  come  into  some  nice  little 
legacy  ? 

I  had  no  such  proofs,  no  family  papers  whatever? 
Then,  beyond  consulting  her  solicitor.  Lady  Sophie 
did  not  see  what  steps  we  could  possibly  take. 

''It — it  was  nothing  like  this  that  made  you  first 
think  of  asking  me  to  come  to  you?"  I  stammered 
at  last. 

The  colour  rose  to  her  handsome  face. 

"No,  it  was  nothing  like  that,"  she  echoed  with 
reserve. 

Next  day  Lady  Sophie  did  repeat  my  tale  to  her 
solicitor,  a  delightful  old  person  in  a  Gladstonian  col- 
lar, who  had  transacted  legal  business  for  her  late  hus- 
band and  her  late  husband's  father.  I  was  not  pres- 
ent at  the  interview;  but  my  benefactress  assured  me 
that  she  had  been  most  clear,  most  concise,  and  had 
not  forgotten  a  single  point. 

Yet  the  upshot  of  the  matter  was  that  Mr.  Wal- 


i6o  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

lace  had  smiled,  as  he  might  smile  indulgence  at  a 
precocious  child.  He  knew  Mr.  Wynnstay  by  repu- 
tation, and  had  every  reason  for  believing  him  to  be, 
professionally  and  privately,  above  reproach.  He  was 
unable  to  see  that  there  w^as  anything  in  the  case  (the 
excellent  m.an  would  persist  in  regarding  me  as  a 
"case"),  and  advised  Lady  Sophie  not  to  take  measures 
which  she  was  sure  to  regret. 

Mr.  Wynnstay  was  an  honourable  and  clever  solic- 
itor, who  might  be  trusted  to  let  Miss  Brand  know,  in 
good  time,  if  there  were  any  chance  of  her  inheriting 
property,  whether  or  no  clients  of  his  had  endeavoured 
to  prejudice  his  mind,  a  supposition  which  Mr.  Wal- 
lace considered  extremely  wild,  excessively  improb- 
able. 

"I  dare  say,  if  we  knew  the  w^hole  truth  of  the 
matter  (  all  you  overheard,  and  all  that  your  little 
cousin  told  you)  the  explanation  would  be  so  simple 
that  you  w^ould  laugh  at  your  own  suspicions,"  de- 
clared Lady  Sophie,  fresh  from  her  talk  with  her  old 
adviser.  If  you  are  determined  to  be  the  heroine  of 
a  romance,  my  child,  turn  your  eyes  away  from  this 
muddle  to  a  love-story.  I  assure  you  it  will  be  far 
more  repaying," 

This  shut  me  up  within  myself  again,  as  a  mention 
of  "love"  from  her  lips  invariably  did,  through  my 
vague,  half-admitted  fear  that  she  would  plunge  into 
personalities.  I  resigned  my  mind  to  the  loss  of  the 
escritoire,  and  came  near  to  forgetting  my  many  causes 
of  bewilderment  in  preparations  for  Henley. 

Lady  Sophie  and  I  had  been  asked  for  the  three 


LINKS  IN  A  CHAIN  i6i 

days  of  the  regatta  on  board  a  giant  house-boat  which 
belonged  to  Captain  Weyland's  married  brother,  Lord 
Forth.  Lady  Dunbar  and  Diana  were  invited  also; 
and  Sir  George  Seaforth  had  told  me  that  he  had 
accepted  because  we  were  going. 

Life  on  the  Idle  Hour  was  a  revelation  to  me.  Lady 
Sophie  had  provided  me  with  some  pretty  dresses,  and 
I  was  petted  and  flattered,  till  it  became  a  marvel  that 
my  head  was  not  completely  turned.  Perhaps  this 
would  have  happened  if  it  had  not  been  for  Sir  George 
Seaforth. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

SESAME  AND  LILIES 

It  was  not  that  Sir  George  did  not  conspire  with 
the  rest  for  the  overthrow  of  my  common-sense,  but, 
when  he  was  with  me,  what  the  others  did  or  said 
mattered  little.  And,  somehow,  no  look  or  word  of 
admiration  from  this  one  man  ever  appealed  to  my 
vanity. 

I  was  apt  to  take  it  for  granted  that  most  men  meant 
what  they  said,  if  they  assured  me  that  I  was  the  only 
girl  worth  talking  to,  worth  gazing  at,  on  earth;  and 
when  they  neglected  other  women  for  the  sake  of 
absorbing  as  much  of  my  society  as  I  would  grant,  I 
was  willing  to  believe  that  they  did  it  solely  for  the 
desire  to  be  with  me. 

But  when  George  Seaforth  schemed  to  get  me  away 
from  the  crowd  into  quiet  corners,  I  made  myself  mis- 
erable with  the  fear  that  he  only  did  so  because  he 
wanted  to  make  someone  else — Diana,  perhaps — jeal- 
ous. Or  I  was  tormented  with  the  thought  that  he 
might  merely  enjoy  a  flirtation  with  a  girl  who  had 
achieved  the  reputation  of  a  beauty. 

Again,  if  I  had  succeeded  in  persuading  myself  that 
so  abominable  a  motive  had  never  entered  Sir  George 
Seaforth's  head,  I  flung  my  spirit  once  more  into  the 
162 


SESAME  AND  LILIES  163 

depths  with  the  conviction  that  his  desire  was  to  save 
me  from  neglect.  I  fancied  the  few  sweet  compli- 
ments which  he  sometimes  paid  me,  in  words  as  well 
as  deeds,  were  but  the  utterances  of  habit,  the  things 
which  men  of  the  world,  in  society,  considered  due  to 
every  tolerably  good-looking  woman. 

Whenever  we  parted  (no  matter  how  happy  I  had 
been  while  we  were  together),  I  was  invariably  de- 
spondent, overwhelmed  with  useless  regrets  for  smart 
repartees  I  might  have  made,  and  had  not;  hating  my- 
self because  I  had  been  so  dull,  so  stupid,  so  altogether 
unamusing. 

I  recalled  with  pangs  of  jealous  misery  Diana  Dun- 
bar's wit,  when  she  had  flashed  a  briliant  mot  into  the 
midst  of  our  conversation ;  how  much  more  alluring, 
fascinating,  and  altogether  graceful  her  w^ays  were 
than  mine;  and  how  impossible  it  seemed  that  Sir 
George  should  not  prefer  a  radiant  orchid  to  a  com- 
monplace, wayside  flower  like  Consuelo  Brand. 

With  other  men  I  was  easy  and  natural  enough.  I 
did  not  struggle  to  "make  conversation,"  because  it 
came  without  effort.  If  I  felt  like  talking,  I  talked; 
if  not,  I  considered  that  my  satellites  should  be  grateful 
for  my  silence.  It  seemed  an  irony  of  fate  that  in  the 
presence  of  the  one  man  I  really  wished  to  please  I 
should  be  afilicted  with  dumbness,  clumsiness,  mental 
and  physical.  I  wonder  now,  in  reviewing  these  poign- 
ant sensations  of  mine,  whether  my  sister  women  have 
not  experienced  the  same. 

Still,  despite  the  pain  I  siiffered,  or  perhaps  partly 
because  of  it,  I  was  happy.     It  was  something  to  be 


i64  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

with  him,  to  know  that  I  held  his  thoughts  for  the 
moment,  even  if  he  did  not  greatly  care.  With  the 
end  of  the  season,  perhaps,  we  might  say  good-bye; 
his  world  would  no  longer  be  my  world,  but  after  that 
— the  deluge.  And  I  tried  to  live  in  each  passing  day. 
I  happened  to  mention  my  fondness  for  water-lilies. 
Instantly  I  saw  Sir  George — who  had  been  told  off  to 
Diana  Dunbar  as  dinner-companion — look  up  with  a 
sudden  alertness.  And  perhaps  Diana  saw  it,  too,  for 
she  promptly  engaged  him  in  what  appeared  to  be  a 
most  absorbing  conversation. 

But  an  hour  later  he  had  not  forgotten.  When  we 
were  up  on  deck  among  the  flowers,  with  the  dazzle 
and  darkness  of  a  Henley  night  round  us,  he  asked  if 
I  "liked  my  lilies  to  com.e  to  me,  or  if  I  preferred  to 
go  to  them." 

"I'd  like  to  go  to  them,  of  all  things,"  I  answered 
eagerly. 

"Are  you  up  to  an  early  start,  and  would  Lady 
Sophie  mind  my  taking  you?" 

I  assured  him  that  I  thought,  In  so  worthy  a  cause, 
she  might  be  persuaded. 

"Well,  then,  what  do  you  say  to  seven  to-morrow 
morning?  Til  have  a  canoe  ready,  and  we'll  be  back 
in  time  for  breakfast  with  a  cargo  of  lilies." 

I  could  hardly  sleep  that  night,  for  fear  I  should 
wake  too  late,  and  find  I  had  missed  so  precious  an 
hour.  I  wondered  If  Sir  George's  mind  were  also 
filled  with  thoughts  of  to-morrow,  or  if  he  reposed  In 
calm  oblivion  of  me  and  my  lilies. 

I  was  ready,  in  the  end,  half  an  hour  too  early;  but 


SESAME  AND  LILIES  165 

lest  he  should  think  I  cared  too  much,  I  would  not 
go  out  until  five  minutes  after  the  time,  when  I  ap- 
peared with  an  assumed  air  of  hurry. 

I  had  supposed  that  no  one  else  would  be  visible  so 
soon,  but  there,  dressed  in  white  muslin,  and  daintily- 
feeding  a  swan,  stood  Diana  Dunbar.  I  came  at  the 
wrong  moment,  as  one  usually  does  on  such  occasions, 
for  she  was  talking  to  Sir  George,  who  was  ready  and 
waiting  with  a  little  Canadian  canoe. 

"I  think  you  are  very  selfish  to  be  going  off  alone 
on  such  a  heavenly  morning,"  she  said,  with  a  pretty 
pettishness,  of  which  she  had  a  special  art.  "You 
know  Fm  always  up  with  the  sun  on  a  house-boat.  Be 
a  good  chum,  Georgie,  just  as  you  used,  and  take  me 
with  you." 

It  was  at  this  instant  that  I  must  needs  appear; 
and  I  was  pink  for  her,  from  chin  to  forehead.  I 
would  have  given  anything  not  to  have  been  a  witness 
of  her  discomfiture.  She  turned  at  the  crisp  rustle  of 
me,  in  my  pale  blue  linen;  and  the  red  which  sprang 
to  her  face  was  like  an  angry  reflection  from 
mine. 

*'0,  I  think  you  might  have  told  me  you  weren't 
going  alone,  George,"  she  exclaimed  crossly. 

"I  would,  if  you  had  given  me  time,"  he  returned. 
"Of  course,  I  knew  you  were  only  chaffing,  and  hadn't 
the  slightest  desire  to  leave  your  beloved  swans,  even 
if  Miss  Brand " 

"Miss  Brand  would  like  Miss  Dunbar  to  have  'first 
turn/  as  the  children  say,"  I  broke  in  as  pleasantly  as 
I  knew  how,  in  the  hope  of  relieving  a  strained  situa- 


i66  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

tion.  "I'm  afraid  I  hinted  to  Sir  George  about  the 
water-lilies,  so  that  he  could  hardly  help  himself " 

"Oh,  you  are  going  out  for  lilies,  are  you?"  she 
echoed  stiffly.     "He  took  me  for  lilies  last  year." 

Her  words  brought  the  blood  to  my  cheeks  again, 
and  Sir  George  drew  his  eyebrows  together. 

"I  suppose  I  did  if  you  say  so,"  he  replied.  "And 
I  will  again  this  year  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  when- 
ever you  will  let  me,  except  this  morning,  when  Miss 
Brand  is  going  with  me.  Now  I  really  think  that  we 
had  better  start,  or  we  shall  be  late  for  breakfast." 

"Start  by  all  means;  I  am  not  keeping  you,"  retorted 
Diana.  "For  a  country  girl,  my  dear  little  Consuelo, 
you  are  developing  into  quite  a  modern,  emancipated 
young  lad)^  Pretty  well,  I  call  it,  for  a  debutante 
of  a  month  or  so  old." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  questioned,  as  I  settled 
myself  on  the  cushions  of  the  canoe. 

If  the  lace  frills  of  my  petticoat  had  not  chosen 
to  catch  upon  some  invisible  projection  on  the  steps 
from  the  house-boat.  I  might  not  have  heard  her 
answer,  as  Sir  George  seemed  rather  anxious  to  be 
off.  But  she  spoke  quickly  during  the  short  process 
of  disentanglement. 

"I  mean  that  duets  in  canoes  before  breakfast  are 
rather  advanced,  aren't  they?  Don't  look  so  angry, 
George;  I'm  speaking  entirely  for  Consuelo's  good.  ■  I 
don't  know  that  I'm  any  older  than  she  is,  but  this  is 
my  second  season,  and  I  haven't  lived  in  Devonshire, 
or — or  in  Peckham,  or  anywhere  else  in  the  provinces, 
all  my  life.     I  only  want  to  say  in  the  most  friendly 


SESAME  AND  LILIES  167 

way  that  she  must  really  be  careful  if  she  doesn't  want 
people  to  talk.  There's  quite  gossip  enough  about  her 
already." 

''That's  all  nonsense,  and  you  know  it,  Diana,"  Sir 
George  exclaimed,  looking  at  her  as  I  should  not  have 
liked  him  to  look  at  me.  "You  have  got  out  on  the 
wrong  side  of  your  bed  this  morning,  that  is  all." 

"You  are  pleased  to  be  both  rude  and  vulgar,  my 
dear  friend,"  she  flung  at  him,  her  eyes  flashing. 

Sir  George  began  to  paddle  away,  but  I  could  not 
resist  the  exchange  of  another  shot. 

"Any  way,  you  said  you  went  after  lilies  last  year," 
I  reminded  her. 

"That  was  different.  I  thought  you  knew  that 
George  and  I  were  very  old  friends." 

She  turned  her  back  to  me  and  bestowed  her  ruflled 
attention  once  more  upon  the  impatient  swans.  But 
whether  she  or  I  had  come  off  victor  in  the  final  en- 
counter I  was  not  certain.  I  only  knew  that  I  was 
very  uncomfortable,  and  that  the  expedition  to  which 
I  had  so  eagerly  looked  forward  bade  fair  to  be  spoiled. 
"It  wasn't  really  horrid  of  me  to  come?"  I  inquired 
forlornly. 

"Of  course  not,"  Sir  George  asseverated.  "Do  you 
think  I  would  have  asked  you  if  it  were  not  all  right, 
and  Lady  Sophie  hadn't  consented?  Diana's  in  a  tem- 
per this  morning,  and  she  visited  it  on  us  because  we 
were  the  only  targets  at  hand.  Don't  thinlc  any  more 
about  her ;  do  be  happy,  and  do  smile  on  me  or  I  shall 
want  to  commit  suicide.  You  were  an  angel  to  come 
with  me,  and  I  haven't  slept  all  night  for  thinking  how 


1 68  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

glorious  It  would  be  to  have  you  to  myself  for  a  whole 
hour.     I  can't  have  Diana  Dunbar  ruining  it  now." 

Oh,  if  he  only  meant  it,  and  didn't  say  it  just  to 
console  me,  how  well  I  should  be  repaid  for  my  sleep- 
less hours! 

The  lilies  grew  like  a  carpet  over  the  water,  on 
a  miniature  lake  in  the  grounds  of  a  certain  Mr.  Some- 
body or  Other,  who  was  a  friend  of  Sir  George's,  and 
encouraged  him  to  trespa,ss.  We  had  reached  the 
place  in  twenty  minutes,  my  companion  carrying  the 
canoe  across  the  strip  of  meadow  which  separated  pond 
from  river,  and  floating  it  again  among  the  dark,  nest- 
ling lily-pads. 

We  pushed  ourselves  about,  gathering  the  great 
white,  gold-eyed  stars  that  shone  up  from  the  green 
dusk;  and  once,  as  we  both  went  forward  to  pluck  the 
same  luscious  bud,  our  fingers  touched.  A  curious  lit- 
tle thrill  ran  up  my  hand,  tingling  along  my  arm, 
and  never  ceasing  till  it  reached  my  heart. 

I  did  not  mean  to  look  up,  but  I  could  not  help  it; 
magnet-like,  something  irresistible  seemed  to  draw^  my 
eyes,  and  they  met  his.  There  was  a  light  in  them 
that  I  had  never  seen,  not  in  the  eyes  of  man  or 
woman,  nor  upon  sea  or  land. 

"Consuelo,"  he  said,  and  his  fingers  closed  down  on 
mine  as  we  both  held  the  lily  that  lifted  its  fair  head 
to  us  from  the  water. 

So  strong  his  hand  was,  and  firm,  that  I  seemed 
to  feel  its  grasp  through  my  body's  fingers,  touching 
those  of  my  spirit  as  if  the  flesh  had  been  only  a  glove 
over  the  soul. 


SESAME  AND  LILIES  169 

^'There's  something  I  must  confess  to  you,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice;  "and  then— there's  a  question  I  have 
to  ask;  a  question  I  want  to  ask,  and  to  have  answered 
in  one  way,  more  than  I  ever  wanted  anything  else  in 
the  world." 

^  ''Hullo,  good  people!  hope  you  haven't  got  all  the 
lilies!"  exclaimed  Captain  Weyland's  voice. 

We  looked  up  with  a  start,  and  our  hands  fell  guilt- 
ily apart.  On  the  shore  of  the  little  lake  stood  the 
young  Guardsman  immaculate  in  flannels,  and  by  his 
side  Diana  Dunbar. 

"We  haven't  got  all,  but  we  have  all  we  want,  and 
we  are  ready  to  go,"  said  Sir  George,  with  a  sud- 
den change  of  manner. 

"Then  we  must  go,  too,  for  I  have  been  sent  to 
chaperon  you,"  announced  Diana. 
Sir  George  bit  his  lip. 

"You  are  too  good,"  he  returned  dryly.  "I  wonder 
who  was  thoughtful  enough  for  our  comfort  to  give 
you  both  so  much  trouble." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mind,"  responded  Diana,  avoiding  his 
question.  "And  Jerry  is  always  so  good-natured.  Do 
stop  for  a  few  minutes  and  give  us  time  to  gather 
some  lilies.  You  seem  to  have  forgotten  that  other 
people  besides  Miss  Brand  can  be  fond  of  them." 

We  did  stop.  I  think  that  we  even  continued 
plucking  the  white,  waxy  blossoms  which  had  been 
our  lodestars;  but  I  am  not  quite  sure  of  anything 
that  happened  after  the  interruption.  My  heart  was 
singing  a  new  song,  and  I  scarcely  heard  outside 
sounds. 


I70  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

At  first  I  had  been  bitterly  sorry — bitterly  resentful 
that  Sir  George's  words  should  have  been  cut  short, 
especially  by  the  girl  who  hated  me  while  she  purred 
her  "Consuelos";  that  would  have  seemed,  if  I  had 
been  superstitious,  like  an  ill  omen.  But  I  was  too 
happy  to  be  superstitious,  and  when  I  could  think 
again  I  was  almost  glad  that  Sir  George  had  not 
finished  what  I  dared  believe  he  had  meant  to  say. 

I  had  heard  enough  to  be  in  the  seventh  heaven, 
for  I  was  almost  sure  that,  despite  my  past  uncer- 
tainties and  self-inflicted  torments,  the  "thing  which 
he  wanted  more  than  he  had  ever  wanted  anything 
before"  was  my  love.  I  could  wait  to  hear  the  rest, 
and  there  w^as  a  strange  joy  in  feeling  that  an  experi- 
ence which  can  come  to  most  women  but  once  (the 
offer  of  his  heart  and  life  from  the  one  man  be- 
side whom  the  rest  are  shadows)  was  twice  to  be 
mine. 

I  could  dwell  upon  this  morning  among  the  lilies, 
until  the  right  moment  should  come  for  Sir  George 
to  complete  what  he  had  begun.  To  be  sure,  there 
was  a  sharp  element  of  suspense,  for  supposing,  after 
all,  he  had  not  meant  what  I  thought;  or  if  he  had, 
supposing  he  changed  his  mind,  thankful  that  he  had 
not  gone  too  far  to  draw  back? 

I  was  much  too  deep  in  love  not  to  dwell  upon  these 
doubts  and  make  the  i:  ost  of  them.  But  I  was  of 
an  adventurous  spirit;  c.iid  that  very  element  of  sus- 
pense, of  danger,  hr;d  always  possessed  a  certain  charm 
for  me.  Besides,  without  vanity,  I  had  a  right  to  be 
almost  sure  of  him,  after  that  unforgettable  look  in 


SESAME  AND  LILIES  171 

his  eyes;  and  my  spirit  waited  in  the  spell  of  a  dream 
for  what  should  come  next.  , 

He  and  I  could  not  be  quite  as  we  had  been  before 
that  broken  moment  when  our  hands  and  eyes  had  met ; 
neither  could  we  have  the  peaceful  feeling  of  mutual 
understanding  hidden  from  all  the  rest  of  the  world, 
which  engaged  people  enjoy  before  their  secret  has 
become  the  common  property  of  their  friends. 

I  tried  to  speak,  to  look  as  usual,  but  it  did  not  seem 
to  me  that  Sir  George  cared  to  exert  himself  for  con- 
ventionalities ;  his  manner  gave  me  a  sly,  delicious  little 
hope  that  he  had  passed  beyond  that,  and  would  not 
even  appear  to  go  back. 

Diana  and  Captain  Weyland  kept  close  to  us,  talk- 
ing incessantly,  and  I  knew,  w^ith  the  instinct  w^hich 
is  sharpened  by  love,  that  her  intention  was  to  prevent 
the  exchange  of  a  word  between  us  which  all  the 
world  might  not  have  heard.  She  had  been  afraid  that 
Sir  George  had  a  special  motive  for  taking  me  out  to 
the  lake  of  the  lilies,  and  had  schemed  from  the  first 
to  circumvent  him. 

I  was  ready  to  believe  now  the  hints  Lady  Sophie 
had  let  drop,  that  Diana  Dunbar  would  like  to  be 
Lady  Seaforth.  She  had  been  very  popular,  without 
doubt  had  received  many  offers ;  but  she  had  held  her- 
self free  through  tvvo  successful  seasons.  Lady  Sophie 
had  said  that  she  guessed  the  reason  why;  but 
she  had  added  that  so  far  as  Sir  George  was 
concerned,  there  had  never  been  more  than  the  merest 
flirtation. 

We  went  back  to  the  Idle  Hour,  all  four  together, 


172  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

Diana  apparently  In  high  spirits,  though  her  lips  were 
tight  and  her  eyes  hard  even  while  she  smiled. 

"Give  me  ten  minutes  some  time  to-day,  for  Hea- 
ven's sake,"  Sir  George  managed  to  whisper,  as  he 
helped  me  at  the  steps. 

Before  I  could  answer,  Lady  Forth  came  out,  laugh- 
ing, and  claiming  tribute  of  our  lilies.  They  were  just 
what  she  wanted  for  table  decoration,  she  declared;  it 
was  so  nice  of  us  to  take  so  much  trouble,  all  for  her. 

Somehow,  the  chance  to  give  those  ten  minutes  which 
Sir  George  had  asked  for  did  not  come.  Exactly  how 
ft  happened — ^whether  by  design  or  accident — one  could 
hardly  have  said;  but  we  were  always  interrupted  if 
we  drifted  near  each  other.  Sometimes  it  was  Captain 
Weyland,  Diana's  slave,  sometimes  Lady  Dunbar,  but 
oftenest  Diana  herself.  Intervened. 

Henley,  on  a  house-boat,  with  a  big  and  merry 
party  of  people  who  know  each  other  well,  Is  not  the 
most  convenient  place  for  a  tete-d-tete,  no  matter  what 
the  magazine  story-tellers  may  say,  when  they  have  a 
topical  "society  tale"  to  grind  out  for  the  first  week 
of  July. 

Lord  and  Lady  Forth  had  hosts  of  friends,  none 
of  whom  were  absent  from  the  regatta;  and  besides 
the  house-boat  party,  there  was  generally  a  crowd  of 
outsiders  on  board,  lunching  or  chatting  under  the  pink 
awning,  and  pretending  to  watch  the  races. 

Late  bedtime  came  that  night,  and  Sir  George  and  I 
had  not  had  one  minute  together,  much  less  ten;  and 
though  I  did  no  fail  to  stab  myself  with  the  sugges- 
tion that  perhaps  he  had  not  cared  very  much  after 


SESAME  AND  LILIES  173 

afl,  I  could  not  honestly  believe  that  It  had  been  his 
fault. 

A  hundred  times  I  went  over  the  v^^ords  that  he 
had  jald,  but  it  was  only  just  as  I  was  sinking  into 
sleep  at  last  that  I  started  awake  with  the  remem- 
brance of  some  which,  If  not  forgotten,  had  not  till 
now  held  a  separate,  distinct  significance  In  my  mind. 

What  had  be  meant  by  the  preface  that  there  was 
''something  he  kSti^t  confess?'* 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE    MASKED   SIXGERS 

It  was  our  third  night  at  Henley,  and  nothing  had 
happened.  That  is,  much  had  happened  by  way  of 
entertainment,  but,  selfishly  speaking,  nothing  that  was 
of  intimate  importance  to  me,  or  perhaps  to  Sir  George 
Seaforth. 

There  was  a  dinner-party  on  board  the  Idle  Hour, 
but  we  had  dined  early  on  account  of  the  illuminations 
and  the  fun  of  the  last  evening  of  the  regatta.  The 
late  summer  twilight  still  lingered  in  the  sky  when 
the  men  joined  us  on  deck,  and  the  soft  blue  dusk  was 
jewelled  by  the  coloured  lights  that  glittered  along  the 
line  of  house-boats,  or  sparkled  up  from  the  small  craft 
that  crowded  the  river  like  a  flock  of  tropical  aquatic 
birds. 

The  delicate  lap,  lap  of  the  water  against  the  side 
of  the  boats  was  drowned  by  the  sound  of  laughter, 
the  buzz  of  talking,  and  the  tinkle  of  banjo  and  man- 
dolin in  the  hands  of  the  river  minstrels.  Here  and 
there  a  sweet  voice  rose,  carolling  some  popular  air 
of  the  moment,  or  a  negro  song  that  floated  out  with 
soft  melancholy  through  the  falling  night;  and  as  the 
men  appeared,  a  punt  occupied  by  masked  minstrels 
who  had  proved  themselves  particularly  skilled  came 
174 


THE  MASKED  SINGERS  175 

on  from  a  neighbouring  house-boat  to  pause  before  the 
Idle  Hour. 

The  pair  were  a  man  and  woman,  elaborately 
dressed  in  Japanese  costume,  and  masked  so  that  their 
faces  were  entirely  concealed.  The  man  played  a  vio- 
lin, and  the  woman  sang,  with  so  rich  a  contralto  that 
I  listened  in  dreamy  pleasure  as  they  began  the  Mex- 
ican "La  Paloma,"  little  dreaming  with  what  a  rude 
shock  I  was  presently  to  be  roused. 

So  many  guests  had  come  on  board  for  dinner  to- 
night that  the  deck  of  the  Idle  Hour  was  almost 
crowded;  but  presently  I  was  conscious,  though  I 
scarcely  looked  round,  that  Sir  George  had  found  his 
way  to  me,  and  was  standing  close  behind  me.  On 
my  other  side  was  Diana.  He  might  have  occupied 
a  place  beside  her,  which  she  had  been  keeping  with 
some  finesse,  if  he  had  chosen ;  but  he  had  ignored  the 
opportunity,  and  with  a  just  perceptible,  petulant 
movement  of  her  pretty  shoulders,  Diana  let  Captain 
Weyland  fill  the  vacant  place. 

"Oh,  I  wish  they  would  give  us  something  else!" 
I  cried,  when  the  musicians  had  finished. 

Diana  and  Captain  Weyland  were  the  only 
others  who  applauded  with  enthusiasm,  for  Sir  George 
had  started  from  a  reverie  at  my  words. 

"Do  you  wish  it?"  he  asked.  "Then  they  shall;" 
and  he  clapped  his  hands  with  a  vigour  so  contagious 
that  everyone  on  board  turned  from  their  own  conver- 
sation to  the  music,  which  was  beginning  again. 

Not  only  were  our  own  people  ready  to  listen  to 
the  song  which  should  come  next,  but  those  on  all  the 


176  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

adjacent  house-boats  and  the  occupants  of  the  little 
boats  within  hearing  distance.  The  fact  was  that  the 
Idle  Hour  had  been  the  most  admired  house-boat  of 
the  season,  and  as  many  of  her  party  were  well  known 
in  society,  anything  that  happened  on  her  deck  at  once 
attracted  attention. 

I  could  even  hear,  sometimes,  comments  on  my  own 
appearance,  stage  whispers  regarding  my  popularity,  or 
information  as  to  my  name  and  place  of  residence.  But 
I  had  become  too  thoroughly  accustomed  to  that  sort  of 
thing  by  this  time  to  be  m.uch  disconcerted. 

The  air  w^hich  the  masked  minstrels  had  selected 
for  their  encore  was  a  new  one,  with  a  certain  impudent 
swing  and  lilt  about  it,  as  the  man  played  a  few 
bars  on  his  violin  before  the  woman  began  to  sing. 

Then  she  lifted  her  voice,  and  it  rang  out  far  more 
clearly  than  before,  each  word  pronounced  with  a  sin- 
gular distinctness. : 

*'  Little  Miss  Nobody  climbed  up  a  throne, 
Though  she  hadn't  a  penny  to  call  her  own. 
She  wore  fine  feathers  and  lived  on  the  best, 
Oh,  trust  Cinderella  to  feather  her  nest. 
The  lies  that  she  told  made  the  air  quite  blue. 
So  where  she  came  from  few  people  knew. 
Who  would  have  thought  that,  down  Peckham  wsqr. 
She'd  taught  in  a  nursery  day  by  day  ? 
But  Miss  Cinderella  kept  it  all  still, 
For  fear  that  the  tradesmen  would  send  in  their  bifi. 
She  wanted  to  pose  as  an  heiress  rare, 
For  smart  men  won't  marry  a  pauper  fair. 
She  says  her  prayers,  throws  her  line  for  a  Duke  : 
She'll  get  one,  too,  by  hook  or  by  crook — 
Or  else  she'll  feel  that  the  game's  in  vain, 
And  go  back  to  Peckham  to  hide  her  pa'in. 


THE  MASKED  SINGERS  177 

Chorus, 
Poor  Cinderella  sits  and  sighs  j 
Naughty  Miss  Nobody,  she  tells  lies  j 
Pamted  Miss  Nobody  makes  hearts  ache; 
Sly  Cinderella  takes  the  cake." 

**WiIl  no  one  stop  those  wretches,  for  goodness' 
sake?'*  broke  in  Diana  shrilly,  as  the  chorus  rose  and 
fell,  and  I  stood  helpless,  aghast,  frozen  with  shame 
and  astonishment.  Dully,  I  wondered  why  Diana,  of 
all  others,  should  be  the  first  to  come  to  my  rescue. 
"Surely,  Sir  George,"  she  went  on  in  a  lowered  tone, 
"surely  you  might  do  something  to  keep  them  from 
openly  insulting  Miss  Brand,  for  all  the  world  to 
hear?" 

"How  absurd !"  he  answered  coldly  and  clearly,  his 
voice  almost  as  widely  audible  as  the  singing  had  been  ; 
for  it  had  stopped  now,  and  the  masked  minstrels  were 
hurrying  their  punt  away  among  the  crowd.  "How 
absurd,  and  how — if  you  had  not  been  the  speaker,  I 
should  have  said — how  malicious !  As  if  anyone  in  his 
senses  could  possibly  connect  a  vulgar  doggerel  verse 
with  a  lady — with  the  lady  whose  name  you  mentioned, 
of  all  people!" 

"Nevertheless,  she  was  the  one  meant,  without 
doubt,  and  everyone  will  know  it,"  went  on  Diana, 
undaunted  by  his  reproach.  'It  will  be  all  over  Lon- 
don by  to-morrow,  for  there's  been  so  much  curiosity 
and  gossip.  Everybody's  heard  the  story  about  Peck- 
ham,  of  course.  I  should  have  thought  it  would  be 
best  to  stop  those  creatures.  Fancy  verses  being  writ- 
ten on  the  subject!  But,  then,  poor  dear  little  Con- 
suelo's  such  a  celebrity  that " 


178  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

I  knew  now  why  she  had  hastened  to  break  in  upon 
the  singers,  and  why  no  one  else  had  interrupted.  I 
had  been  too  horrified,  too  struck  by  the  lightning 
flash  of  shame,  to  be  logical  at  first,  but  I  realized 
at  last  that  silence,  not  loud  championship,  was  the 
part  of  a  true  friend.  Every  one  except  Diana  had 
bravely  striven  to  show  that  they  had  drawn  no  infer- 
ence from  the  verses,  that  no  moral  had  been  pointed 
by  them,  no  gossip-tale  adorned. 

It  had  been  left  for  Diana  to  raise  the  storm,  and 
she  had  no  mercy.  Mercy?  I  believed  now,  when  I 
began  to  think  again,  after  the  blow  which  had  numbed 
me,  that  Diana  had  planned  the  whole  scene.  A  little 
n^oney,  a  little  ingenuity,  and  plenty  of  malice,  would 
have  been  the  sole  ingredients  needed  for  the  prescrip- 
tion ;  and  she  had  had  them  all. 

"There  are  a  number  of  fools  and  scandal-mongers 
in  the  world,  I  admit,"  said  Sir  George  fiercely,  before 
Diana  could  finish;  "but  I  don't  think  quite  so  meanly 
of  my  fellows  as  to  suppose  them  so  vile,  so  stupid, 
as  you  fancy  them.  Miss  Dunbar.  That  being  the  case 
— and  as  I  am  certain  that  everj^one  here  agrees  with 
me — we  can  do  no  better  than  to  drop  the  subject 
once  and  for  all.  A  couple  of  mountebanks  have 
squalled  a  music-hall  song.  They  may  attach  some 
obscure  meaning  to  the  words;  but  to  those  in  a  dif- 
ferent class  of  life  they  can  seem  nothing  but  doggerel, 
neither  worth  talking  of  nor  worth  thinking  of." 

"  'Miss  Nobody'  is  Consuelo's  nickname,  though,  you 
know  that,  and  'My  Lady  Cinderella,'  "  Diana  stoutly 
insisted,  though  her  face  was  marble  white  in  the  blue 


THE  MASKED  SINGERS  179 

dimness.  "She  must  have  heard  that  herself,  so  she 
can't  mind  my  repeating  it,  for  I  wouldn't  be  ill- 
natured  for  the  world." 

*1  have  never  heard  it,"  said  Sir  George.  "Women 
do  hear  extraordinary  things  sometimes,  to  be  sure,  be- 
cause they  don't  knock  each  other  down  for  insulting 
their  friends,  as  the  right  sort  of  men  do.  I  should 
have  thought,  if  a  name  were  wanted  in  this  case, 
*Miss  Everybody'  would  have  been  more  appropriate; 
for  when  one  is  fortunate  enough  to  have  Miss 
Brand  for  a  companion,  it  always  seems  as  if  one 
had  secured  everybody  who  was  really  worth  think- 
ing of." 

"Oh,  please,  please,  let  us  say  no  more  about  it!" 
I  implored,  in  a  queer  little  choked  voice,  that  would 
sound  as  if  I  w^re  stifling  a  sob.  I  had  not  felt  like 
crying  before — not  when  the  spiteful  words  of  the 
song  were  piercing  their  way  to  the  most  sensitive 
penetralia  of  my  nerves ;  not  when  Diana  had  brought 
them  hom.e  to  me  still  more  forcefully.  Yet  when  Sir 
George  spoke  for  me  at  last,  the  tears  rose,  and  would 
hardly  be  kept  down. 

"If  anyone  speaks  a  kind  word  to  me  now  Fm 
lost,"  I  thought  desperately;  "for  I  shall  howl,  and 
disgrace  myself  before  them  all,  and  before  Diana, 
too." 

But  I  was  saved  from  that  ordeal.  The  crisis  was 
past ;  people  found  their  tongues,  and  forced  themselves 
to  break  the  shocked  silence.  They  had  the  tact  to 
begin  laughing  and  talking  of  other  things^ — a  ridicu- 
lous darky  w^ith  a  red  wig  and  a  tall  collar,  picking 


i8o  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

a  banjo;  the  iirst  rocket  of  the  evening  shooting  comet- 
like across  the  sky. 

Lady  Forth  drew  near,  and  put  her  arm  round 
me  in  a  prett^^  motherly  way,  though  she  was  not  many 
years  my  senior,  and  hurried  into  a  comical  account 
of  an  accident  which  had  happened  to  the  Idle  Hour 
during  last  year's  regatta. 

Five  minutes  after  the  masked  minstrels  had  van- 
ished no  one  would  have  dreamed  that  our  peace  had 
been  for  an  instant  disturbed.  But  my  heart  was 
thumping  against  my  side  like  the  strokes  of  a  ham- 
mer, and  the  calm  seemed  to  me  only  that  which 
comes  before  a  storm. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

DIANA   THROWS   DOWN    THE    GLOVE 

I  HAD  a  quaint,  pretty  little  nook  of  a  bedroom, 
next  a  large  one  occupied  by  Lady  Sophie,  on  the 
Idle  Hour.  She  rustled  in  to  talk  over  the  thing  that 
had  happened,  when  we  had  said  our  "Good-nights" 
to  everyone  else;  and  when  she  had  been  angry  in 
whispers  with  my  enemies,  bidden  me  be  of  good 
heart  and  ignore  the  incident,  because  no  one  would 
think  the  less  of  me,  she  disappeared  to  her  own  room 
again. 

Lady  Sophie  thought  a  great  deal  of  her  "beauty 
sleep,"  which  she  declared  that  at  her  age  she  could 
ill  afford  to  miss;  but  I  had  no  inclination  for  bed. 
I  had  not  forgiven  Diana  Dunbar;  and  until  I  could 
feel  more  in  charity  with  her  it  was  no  use  to  try 
and  say  my  prayers.  Without  them  I  had  never  slept; 
even  with  them  I  should  find  difficulty  enough  in  com- 
posing myself  to  sleep  on  this  night. 

I  was  slowly  brushing  out  the  waves  of  my  long 
hair  in  a  dressing-gown,  endeavouring  to  attain  a 
proper  frame  of  mind,  when  I  heard  a  soft  knock  at 
the  door.  At  first  thought  it  came  from  the  one  which 
connected  with  Lady  Sophie's  room,  but  the  light 
sound  was  repeated,  and  I  knew  that  I  had  mistaken 
the  direction. 

i8i 


i82  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

I  went  to  the  other  door  and  peeped  out.  To  my 
surprise,  Diana  stood  there,  fully  dressed  as  she  had 
been  for  dinner. 

"Will  you  let  me  come  in  for  a  few  minutes?'* 
she  pleaded,  in  her  sweetest  voice.  *'I  want  particu- 
larly to  speak  with  you." 

"Can't  what  you  have  to  say  wait  until  to-morrow?" 
I  returned  ungraciously.  "I  am  almost  ready  for  bed, 
and  it's  very  late." 

"Who  cares  how  late  it  is?  To-morrow  we  are  all 
going  away.  We  shall  have  no  chance  for  a  quiet  talk 
together.  You  know  how  few  such  chances  people  do 
get  on  a  house-boat?" 

"Yes,  I  have  noticed  that,"  I  responded  to  the  inner 
meaning  I  suspected.  "Come  in,  then,  if  you 
like." 

She  came,  and  shut  the  door,  though  I  would  have 
left  it  ajar,  as  a  gentle  hint  that  I  wished  the  visit 
to  be  brief. 

"I  want  for  one  thing  to  tell  you  how  awfully  sorry 
I  was  for  you  to-night,"  she  began,  sitting  down  with- 
out waiting  for  the  formality  of  an  invitation. 

"Thank  you.  I  fancy  I  know^  exactly  how  sorry 
you  were,"  I  responded.  "I  don't  think  we  need  waste 
words  upon  that." 

I  had  not  sat  down  when  she  did,  but  continued  to 
stand,  straight  and  still,  in  the  middle  of  the  little 
room.  As  I  finished  speaking,  Diana  sprang  up,  and 
laid  a  hand  on  each  of  my  shoulders. 

"Oh,  I  wish  you  would  not  be  so  cold  with  me.  I 
wish  you  w^ould  let  me  be  your  friend.     I  want  to 


DIANA  THROWS  DOWN  THE  GLOVE    183 

be  your  friend,  really,  really!"  she  asseverated,  watch- 
ing my  face  to  see  if  I  were  moved  by  her  protesta- 
tions. 

''I  don't  make  friends  easily,"  I  said.  "The  word 
means  a  great  deal  to  me." 

''Will  you  at  least  let  me  talk  to  you  as  if  we 
were  friends?"  she  entreated. 

'Tm  ready  to  listen  to  anything  you  care  to  say." 

"Ah,  you  were  not  kind.  And  when  I  spoke  up 
for  you  this  evening,  too!  Consuelo,  what  are  you 
going  to  do  after  that  wretched  affair?  It  will  make 
a  tremendous  difference  in  your  future  plans,  of 
course." 

"Why  should  it?" 

"Why?  Oh,  you  know  very  little  of  society,  or 
you  would  not  ask.  People  whom  one  fancies  are 
one's  friends  really  care  nothing  about  one's  self.  They 
only  hang  round  if  one  is  popular,  and  it  is  the  fashion 
to  be  seen  with  one.  But  they  would  all  rather  have 
something  nasty  than  nice  to  say  behind  one's  back; 
it  is  so  easy  to  be  witty  at  one's  friends*  expense. 
You  can  guess  that,  or  the\'  w^ouldn't  have  labelled 
you  'My  Lady  Cinderella.'  It  was  just  smart  enough, 
and  apt  enough  to  stick.  Now,  this  episode  of  to- 
night will  be  in  all  the  society  papers  by  the  end 
of  the  week.  Even  if  they  don't  use  your  name,  they 
will  have  paragraphs  so  worded  that  everybody  will 
know  who  is  meant.  You've  been  a  good  deal  talked 
about  already,  but  after  this  town  will  be  too  hot 
to  hold  you  with  any  comfort  for  yourself,  I'm  afraid. 
That's  why  I'm  so  sorry  for  you,  dear.     Men  who 


i84  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

have  been  apparently  at  your  feet  before  will  forget 
to  ask  you  to  dance.  They  like  a  girl  to 
be  conspicuous  in  some  ways,  but  not  as  you  will  be 
now,  for  that's  'dowdy'  and  'bad  form' — the  two  most 
hopeless  things  that  can  be  said  of  a  girl  nowadays. 
Hasn't  Lady  Sophie  told  you  the  same?" 

"She  has  not,"  I  said  shortly. 

"Oh,  she  was  afraid  of  hurting  your  feelings,  no 
doubt.  She's  a  good  sort;  she  wouldn't  mind  a  fib 
for  a  friend's  sake  any  more  than  she  would  for  her 
own,  which  is  so  loyal  and  nice.  Every  woman  fibs 
for  herself;  but  she  generally  tells  the  truth  to,  or  of, 
her  friends." 

"I  suppose  one  judges  others  by  one's  self '  I  re- 
torted. 

"Don't  be  horrid,  dear;  I'm  trying  tc  help  you.  I've 
been  thinking  It  over,  and  putting  myself  in  your  place. 
It  seemed  to  me,  looking  at  !t  so,  that  you  would 
have  to  go  away,  for  a  time  at  all  events,  till  this 
unfortunate  affair  has  blown  over — been  forgotten  for 
the  next  nine  days'  wonder." 

"You  would  suggest  that  I  returned  to  the  Peck- 
ham,  perhaps,  to  which  you  have  consigned  me." 

I  spoke  icily,  though  my  soul  was  hot  within  me. 

"I  was  going  to  suggest  a  nice,  long,  restful  visit 
at  a  country  place  of  ours,  which  we  seldom  use  our- 
selves, though  we  sometimes  lend  it  to  friends.  Mamma 
would  be  quite  willing,  I  am  sure.  But  why  do  you 
say  'the  Peckham  to  w^hich  I  have  consigned  you'?  I 
know  nothing  about  Peckham." 

"Except  that  you  and  Lady  Dunbar  followed  me 


DIANA  THROWS  DOWN  THE  GLOVE   185 

there,"  I  burst  forth,  reckless  now  of  consequences. 
"Except  that  you  have  both  set  inquiries  on  foot 
regarding  me.  Except  that  you  have  started  all  the 
gossip — made  the  gossip.  You  and  Lady  Dunbar  have 
your  own  reasons  for  not  wishing  your  interest  in  me 
to  be  known,  so  you  do  not  speak  out  what  you  have 
learned  by  spying.  You  work  in  an  underhand  way, 
lest  the  scandal  should  be  traced  to  you.  You  want 
to  get  rid  of  me,  and  you  hire  music-hall  singers  to 
hound  me  out  of  your  world." 

"How  dare  you?"  cried  Diana,  even  now  scarcely 
raising  her  voice,  for  she  had  been  well  trained  to 
conventionalities,  and  the  walls  of  the  Idle  Hour  were 
thin.  "How  dare  you  accuse  me  of  such  things?  Why, 
if  you  repeated  your  words,  I — I  could  sue  you  for 
them  if  I  liked.  There^s  a  law  in  England  which  dis- 
courages the  speaking  of  scandal,  just  as  it  does  black- 
mail and  libel.  I  should  have  thought  in  the  rank 
of  life  you  came  from  j^ou  would  have  known  more 
about  them  than  I  do.  Why  should  I  want  to  get 
rid  of  you?  for  dragging  in  my  mother's  name  is  too 
ridiculous.     Do  you  think  I  am  jealous  of  you?" 

"I  think  that  you  hate  me,"  I  replied. 

"I  do  not  care  that  for  you  1"  she  snapped  her  fingers, 
the  pretence  of  friendship  forgotten  now  in  this  vivid 
moment,  which  was  showing  me  the  real  woman.  "I 
suppose  that  you  think  I  am  annoyed  because  of  George 
Seaforth's  flirtation  with  you?  What  nonsense!  As 
though  he  were  a  man  to  marry  a  little  upstart  from 
nobody-knows-where !  I  have  looked  on,  laughing  m 
my  sleeve,  while  the  paltry  farce  was  played,  wonder- 


i86  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

ing  how  you  would  feel  if  you  knew  that  I  had  re- 
fused him  last  year,  when  he  really  cared  for  me,  as 
he  pretends  to  care  for  you  now.  That  habit  of  his 
— amusing  himself  with  every  new  girl  who  comes 
along — has  grown  upon  him  since  those  days;  but 
George  is  a  proud  man,  proud  of  himself  and  his  fam- 
ily, whose  boast  is  that  not  one  of  their  long  line  has 
ever  made  a  mesalliance.  Knowing  nothing  of  you, 
he  would  not  have  married  you,  even  if  he  had  been 
genuinely  in  love.  Knowing  the  truth  about  you,  he 
would  do  still  less." 

"He  is  welcome  to  know  all — everything  that  can 
be  known  of  me!"  I  cried. 

"Why  you  came  to  live  with  Lady  Sophie,  among 
other  things?" 

Her  eyes  burned  into  mine,  as  if  she  would  have 
dragged  an  answer  from  me,  if  necessary,  with  red- 
hot  pincers. 

For  the  first  time  I  quailed,  feeling  that  she  had 
an  undue  advantage — that  I  was  groping  in  the  dark, 
while  she  held  a  light. 

"What  do  you  know  of  that?"  I  questioned. 

"I  will  tell  you,  if  you  will  give  me  your  version 
of  the  story  first." 

She  hesitated  for  an  instant  bfore  making  me  this 
offer. 

"I  came  because  Lady  Sophie  took  a  fancy  to  me, 
and  invited  me;  that  is  all,"  I  answered. 

"Nonsense!  Think  of  something  more  credible.  No 
one  who  knows  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton  and  her  cir- 
cumstances w^ould  believe  that  for  a  single  second.   She 


DIANA  THROWS  DOWN  THE  GLOVE   187 

must  have  been  influenced  by  some  extraordinary  mo- 
tive in  taking  up  a  girl  like  you." 

"Must  have  been!"  I  echoed.  "Then  you  do  not 
know  why  she  did  it.  You  are  only  trying  to  find 
out  through  me." 

She  gave  a  slight  start,  and  drew  her  lips  to- 
gether. 

"Well,"  she  said,  in  a  changed  tone,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  "that  was  rather  a  slip.  To  tell  you 
the  truth,  I  don't  know." 

"Neither  do  I,"  I  retorted.  "I  know  no  more  than 
I  have  told  you,  which  was  the  reason  Lady  Sophie 
gave.  She  likes  me;  she  is  an  impulsive  woman  who 
enjoys  novelty.  I  believe  that  it  was  exactly  as  she 
said." 

"Then  you  were  never  so  mistaken  in  your  life. 
You  are  letting  yourself  live  in  a  fools'  paradise.  But 
though  I  don't  know  the  explanation  of  the  mystery, 
and  therefore  can't  enlighten  you,  I  will  find  out;  and 
then  you  shall  hear  the  truth  from  my  lips,  Consuelo 
Brand." 

"There  is  nothing  to  find  out,"  I  persisted,  though 
my  heart  grew  cold. 

"There  is  something.  What,  I  swear  to  you  I  will 
find  out  before  I  am  many  weeks  older." 

"You  are  good  at  spying,"  I  flung  at  her.  "But  if 
you  spread  more  stories  about  me,  everyone  shall  hear 
what  I  know  of  your  and  Lady  Dunbar's  reasons  for 
taking  an  interest  in  me.  I  don't  want  to  be  revenge- 
ful, yet  I  must  defend  myself." 

"If  you  tell  what  you  imagine,  but  cannot  know,  not 


i88  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

only  will  I  tell  you  all  I  discover  of  Lady  Sophie's  mys- 
tery, but  I  will  tell  the  whole  world  as  well." 

Her  eyes  frightened  me.  I  had  not  known  that  the 
face  of  a  girl  could  express  such  hatred  as  flashed 
from  hers  to  me. 


r 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A   PARAGRAPH   IN   A   LETTER 

Lady  Sophie  suffered  from  headache  the  day  we 
left  Henley.  The  doctor  pronounced  her  attack  a  mild 
form  of  sunstroke,  which  she  had  courted  during  those 
hot  days  on  the  river;  and  his  advice  was  that  she 
should  have  rest  and  mountain  air,  ten  days  at  least 
of  quiet,  before  returning  for  Goodwood  and  Cowes. 
I  offered  my  services  as  nurse,  only  too  glad  of  a 
chance  to  show  my  loving  gratitude  for  all  that  I  owed 
to  her  kindness;  and  she  was  to  see  no  one  but  me 
and  Adele. 

"Mountain  air"  Lady  Sophie  interpreted  to  mean 
Cumberland,  where  a  distant  cousin  of  hers  had  a 
place,  and  (conveniently  for  her  present  plans)  de- 
serted it  for  half  the  year  to  live  abroad.  He  was 
at  present  in  Switzerland,  but  a  telegram  sent  to  his 
bankers  was  duly  and  favourably  answered,  and  by 
the  time  that  Lady  Sophie  felt  able  to  travel  she  had 
heard  that  the  house  was  placed  at  her  disposal. 

I  should  have  been  nothing  short  of  brutal  if  I 
had  not  shut  myself  up  with  the  invalid,  waiting  upon 
her,  keeping  her  amused  as  best  I  could;  and  I  took 
no  credit  to  myself  for  doing  so,  especially  as,  for 
some  reasons,  I  was  not  sorry  to  be  out  of  town  for 
189 


I90  Mi   LADY  CINDERELLA 


a  few  fl-vs.  Bit  Lady  Sophie's  illness  and  our  journey, 
with  tlie  Jccior's  commands  debarring  her  from  all 
society,  effectually  cut  me  off  for  a  fortnight  from 
George  Seaforth. 

Twice  before  we  left  for  Cumberland  he  called, 
but  once  I  was  bathing  Lady  Sophie's  aching  head  with 
eau  de  Cologne,  and  could  not  leave  her;  again,  she 
was  sleeping  with  my  hand  in  hers,  and,  as  Adele  was 
her  mistress's  faithful  dragon,  I  did  not  hear  of  the 
visit  until  it  was  of  the  past. 

From  Cumberland  Lady  Sophie  answered  a  letter 
from  Sir  George,  assuring  him  that  she  would  be  back 
in  London  again  before  Goodwood,  so  that  he  need 
not  fear  we  should  fail  him  as  guests;  and  after  that 
there  were  other  letters  and  flowers,  in  which  I  some- 
times shared. 

"Poor  George!  he's  horribly  impatient  for  us  to  get 
back,"  she  said,  looking  up  from  a  letter  which  had 
just  been  received,  a  few  days  before  the  one  more  or 
less  definitely  fixed  for  our  return.  "What  would  you 
give,  Consuelo,  to  know  some  of  the  things  he  says  here 
about  you?" 

"It  depends  whether  they  are  good  or  bad,"  I  re- 
plied, with  an  attempt  at  smiling  indifference. 

"Which  do  you  think  they  are  more  likely  to  be?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  he  would  not  say  anything  very  rude 
to  you  about  your  guest." 

"If  you  will  tell  me  your  exact  opinion  of  him  I 
may  be  tempted  to  ignore  the  confidential  understand- 
ing between  George  and  me,  and  read  you  a  paragraph 
or  two  of  the  letter." 


A  PARAGRAPH  IN  A  LETTER        191 

"I  wouldn'  have  you  betray  confidence  for  the  world. 
Besides,  I  haven't  anything  so  fixed  as  an  opinion  of 
Sir  George  Seaforth.  Sometimes  I— fancy  he's  rather 
a  flirt." 

"He  has  never  flirted  with  you,  at  all  events,  no 
matter  what  he  may  have  been  in  the  past.  He  is 
over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  you,  Consuelo.  Of 
course  you  must  know  that,  though  you've  always 
avoided  the  subject  with  me  before." 

"He  has  never  told  me  that  he  cared,''  I  answered 
stiflly,  though  I  only  felt  shy. 

"That  is  because — well,  he  had  certain  quixotic  rea- 
sons of  his  own  for  not  doing  so  at  first.  Some  day, 
if  you  are  kind  to  him,  he  may  confess  to  you  what 
they  were.  Afterwards,  when  he  was  carried  off  his 
feet,  and  so  far  beyond  his  depth  that  he  forgot  scruples 
— at  Henley,  for  instance — he  never  had  the  chance. 
Oh,  don't  fancy  for  a  moment  that  I  did  not  see  what 
was  going  on  there—Diana  Dunbar  making  herself  a 
sort  of  buffer  between  you  and  George — for  my  eyes 
have  been  open  to  the  things  of  this  world  longer  than 
I  like  to  admit.  I  did  see  everything,  and  perhaps  I 
might  have  interfered  to  circumvent  Diana;  but  I  was 
certain  that  you  would  not  thank  me,  and  equally 
certain  that  the  more  he  was  tantalized,  the  deeper  in 
love  that  spoiled  boy  George  would  be." 

"Why  do  you  call  him  a  'spoiled  boy'?"  I  ques- 
tioned, half  vexed  on  his  behalf. 

"Oh,  so  many  girls  have  thrown  themselves  at  his 
head  since  he  came  into  his  father's  title  and  money 
and  tw^o  or  three  good  houses,  of  which  any  normal 


192  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

woman  would  give  her  ears  to  be  mistress,  even  if 
a  rather  desirable  young  man  were  not  thrown  in.  But 
he's  a  different  person  since  he's  known  you.  What 
shall  you  say  to  him,  Consuelo,  when  he  asks  you  to 
marry  him  ?" 

''Hadn't  I  better  wait  to  make  up  my  mind,"  I 
asked,  'like  the  well-regulated  maiden  you  are  teach- 
ing me  to  be,  until  Sir  George  does  ask  me  to  marry 
him — if  he  ever  does?" 

I  spoke  lightly,  wishing  that  I  could  close  her  mouth 
without  seeming  ungrateful  for  her  interest  in  me,  but 
the  lightness  was  all  assumed. 

"He  won't  propose  by  letter.  No  real  man  who  is 
worth  his  salt  ever  does  that,  unless  every  other  way 
is  closed  to  him.  He'll  keep  himself  in  hand  till  he 
sees  you ;  and  at  his  own  house  he  may  have  some  fool- 
ishly chivalrous  idea  about  not  disturbing  your  mind 
while  you  are  a  guest  under  his  roof;  but  ten  to  one 
he'll  yield  to  temptation,  and  you'll  have  your  chance 
to  say  you  will  or  won't  be  Lady  Seaforth  while  you 
are  at  Southwood  Park." 

"Perhaps,  after  that  horrid  night  at  Henley " 

I  began,  but  Lady  Sophie  irritably  cut  me  short. 

"There's  no  such  'perhaps,'  and  you  know  it,  for 
even  you  know  George  better  than  to  do  him  so  great 
an  Injustice." 

"He  hasn't  heard  }^et  what  a  nobody  I  really  am— 
what  a  fraud " 

"Don't  be  an  idiot,  my  child!  It  is  bad  for  my 
nerves.  I'm  still  far  from  strong.  With  some  men 
what  you  speak  of  might  make  a  difference,  but  not 


A  PARAGRAPH  IN  A  LETTER        193 

with  George.  It  is  you  he  loves;  and  really, 
though  he  has  a  great  deal  to  offer,  I  must 
say  that  he  would  be  getting  very  good  value  in  ex- 
change. There!  you  haven't  told  me  that  you  will 
accept  him " 

"No,"  I  ventured  to  interrupt,  sotto  voce. 

"But  you  have  left  me  to  form  my  own  conclu- 
sions, and  those  conclusions  justify  me  in  reading  you 
the  paragraph  in  his  letter  I  was  hinting  to  you  about. 
You  needn't  look  frightened,  as  if  you  were  going  to 
do  him  a  wrong  by  listening.  He  only  writes  of  the 
room  you  are  to  have  at  Southwood  Park  when  we 
pay  our  visit  there,  and  the  part  that  is  really  a  secret 
I  shall  keep.  He  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  surprising 
you.  But  hear  this:  'She  is  to  have  the  octagon,  bay- 
window  room,  which  you  may  remember;  and  when  I 
paid  it  a  visit  of  inspection  the  other  day  it  seemed 
to  me  that,  though  I  had  always  thought  it  the  pret- 
tiest at  Southwood,  it  was  not  half  nice  enough  for  her. 
Everything  looked  shabby,  and  I  have  ordered  in  a 
lot  of  new  odds  and  ends.  In  the  midst  of  the  trans- 
formation I  remembered  something  you  had  told  miC 

soon  after  she  came  to  you,  and  I '  but  that  is 

where  the  secret  begins.  You  mustn't  ask  me  any  more 
questions,  my  dear." 

I  did  not  even  wish  to  ask.  For  the  first  time  since 
we  had  left  Henley  I  was  happy,  far  too  happy  to 
be  curious.  It  was  sweet  to  have  heard  the  paragraph, 
to  have  thrilled  at  the  thought  that  Sir  George  called 
me  "she"  without  the  formality  of  using  my  name; 
to  know  that  I  was  in  his  mind,  though  he  had  not 


194  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

seen  me  for  more  than  a  week,  and  that  he  was  busying 
himself  for  my  pleasure. 

We  went  back  to  town  three  days  before  Goodwood, 
to  have  the  dresses  already  ordered  fitted,  and  to  test 
fLady  Sophie's  recovered  strength  at  two  balls.  Sir 
George  had  not  been  informed  that  we  meant  to  return 
rather  earlier  than  we  had  expected,  and  I  trusted 
that  I  might  attribute  his  absence  partly  to  that  reason. 
He  was  at  South  wood  Park,  it  appeared,  where  he 
hoped  to  receive  us  in  two  days'  time. 

Despite  Diana's  gloomy  prognostications,  there  had 
been  no  reference  to  the  Henley  dispute  in  any  reput- 
able paper — I  was  sure  this  was  not  Miss  Dunbar's 
fault — and  I  seemed  to  be  higher  in  public  favour  on 
my  first  reappearance  than  I  had  been  before. 

I  dared  to  be  happy;  I  dared  to  think  that  my  little 
romance  was  to  have  a  joyful  ending  after  all.  I  even 
dared  to  think  of  Diana's  threats  with  comparative 
indifference.  Lady  Sophie  had  told  me  the  whole 
truth  about  her  first  impulsive  fancy  for  me,  I  said 
to  myself ;  there  was  no  mystery  in  it,  or  if  there  were, 
it  was  not  one  that  I  need  fear  to  have  Diana  Dun- 
bar or  anyone  else  in  the  world  discover. 

So  we  travelled  down  to  Goodwood,  two  or  three 
friends  who  were  to  be  of  the  house-party  turning  up 
for  the  same  train.  Sir  George  himself  met  us  at 
the  station,  and  I  sat  beside  him  as  we  drove  towards 
Southwood  Park. 

"Now  for  the  surprise,"  I  whispered  excitedly  to 
myself,  far  enough  from  guessing  what  that  surprise 
would  prove  to  be. 


A  PARAGRAPH  IN  A  LETTER        195 

The  house  at  Southwood  Park  was  old  and  rambling 
— not  half  as  grand  as  Lady  Sophie  reported  Sir 
George's  Warwickshire  place  to  be,  but  lovable  and 
quaint,  with  labyrinthine  passages  and  unexpected 
rooms.  A  plump  old  personage  with  denting  pink  dim- 
ples and  rustling  black  silk  showed  Lady  Sophie  and 
me  to  the  quarters  which  were  to  be  ours  for  the  next 
three  days,  and  her  pleasure  in  my  spontaneous  cry  of 
delight  at  sight  of  my  room  was  evident,  though  de- 
cently controlled. 

It  was  a  dainty  nook,  with  two  bow-windows,  like 
great  bubbles,  half  across  the  oddly-shaped  room. 
There  were  dark,  wainscoted  walls,  and  blue  Delft 
plates,  and  old  furniture,  with  glints  here  and  there 
of  shining  brass.  There  was  new  chintz,  crisp,  glit- 
tering white,  with  pink  moss  roses;  there  were  book- 
shelves filled  with  white-and-gold  bound  volumes,  and 
there  were  flowers  elsewhere.  But,  after  the  first  de- 
lighted, comprehensive  glance,  my  eyes  turned  from  all 
these  to  one  object  that  stood  between  the  windows. 

It  was  a  Chippendale  escritoire,  so  like  the  one  which 
had  been  mine  that,  if  it  were  indeed  another,  the  two 
must  have  been  made  at  the  same  time  and  from  the 
same  pattern. 

Without  a  word  I  walked  to  it.  The  housekeeper 
had  by  this  time  curtsied  herself  away,  so  that  Lady 
Sophie  (who  had  already  seen  her  room,  adjoining) 
was  sole  witness  of  my  astonishment. 

"That  is  Sir  George's  surprise  for  you,"  she  said.  ^*I 
told  him  one  night,  weeks  ago,  that  you  were  grieved 
at  having  lost  a  Chippendale  escritoire  which  had  been 


196  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

your  mother's;  and  he  did  not  forget.  In  the  letter 
I  partly  read  out  to  you  he  asked  me  if  he  might 
give  you  one,  which  he  had  just  bought  with  that  hope, 
and  wanted  to  you  to  find  waiting  your  inspection  in 
this  room.  Afterwards  it  is  to  be  sent  to  Park  Lane; 
but  I  fancy  it  will  soon  find  its  way  back  here  again." 

She  paused,  no  doubt  expecting  me  to  protest.  But 
I  was  deeply  absorbed,  and  I  do  not  think  I  even 
blushed  at  her  inference. 

"This  is  the  strangest  thing,  Lady  Sophie,"  I  ex- 
claimed excitedly.  "How  on  earth  did  Sir  George 
contrive  to  find  my  old  escritoire?  It  is  w^onderful, 
for  I  am  sure  now  it  is  the  same!  He  must  have  been 
tracing  It  somehow  all  this  time." 

I  had  opened  the  Chippendale,  which  had  been  beau- 
tifully cleaned  and  renovated,  and  inside  had  discov- 
ered proof  incontestable,  to  me  who  knew  it  so  w^ell. 

"These  are  my  initials,"  I  said,  pointing,  'C  B.' 
Jimmy  East  cut  the  letters  one  day  with  a  new  pen- 
knife his  father  had  given  him  on  his  birthday.  I 
was  cross,  and  he  defended  himself  by  arguing  that  the 
initials  were  so  small  no  one  who  did  not  know  they 
were  there  would  notice  them.  I  remember  it  as  if 
it  were  yesterday,  though  it  happened  two  or  three 
years  ago." 

"George  didn't  mention  to  me  that  he  had  any  hope 
of  securing  your  own  desk,"  returned  Lady  Sophie.  "I 
don't  understand  how  he  can  have  done  it,  for  I 
said  very  little:  my  words  would  have  passed  out  of 
his  mind  within  the  hour,  if  his  memory  had  not  been 
perfected  by  that  patent  process  called  love.     I  didn't 


A  PARAGRAPH  IN  A  LETTER        197 

even  describe  the  thing,  for  I  could  not.  You  had  only 
spoken  of  a  Chippendale  escritoire.  You  had  better 
ask  him  all  about  it  after  dinner  this  evening.  I'll 
see  that  you  have  a  good  chance." 

This  time  the  colour  did  come  flying  up  to  my  face, 
for  I  read  the  hidden  meaning  under  her  words.  She 
expected  to  be  in  a  position  to  wish  me  joy  to-night. 

We  parted,  with  the  mystery  as  deep  as  ever,  for 
there  was  little  time  for  discussion,  save  upon  the 
business  of  the  moment.  We  had  to  dress  for  dinner, 
with  the  help  of  Adele,  whom  Lady  Sophie  had 
brought  to  Southwood  Park. 

When  the  mistress  was  ready,  the  maid  came  in  to 
me  to  give  the  finishing  touches,  which  were  all  I 
cared  to  have  from  her;  so  it  happened  that  Lady 
Sophie  was  resplendent  in  pearl  satin,  while  I  was 
still  in  cambric  and  lace;  and  she  sailed  in,  fastening 
her  bracelets,  to  watch  the  creation  of  my  latest  effects. 

*'You  were  never  lovelier,  dear!"  she  said  when 
Adele  had  given  me  her  blessing,  with  the  last  hook 
and  eye  on  my  rose  tulle  frock.  "Pink  is  love's  colour," 
she  whispered,  pinching  my  cheek,  and  bending  to  be- 
stow one  of  her  rare  kisses.  "Who  knows  but  this 
night  will  prove  the  most  eventful  of  your  life  so  far 
— the  end  of  one  phase,  the  beginning  of  another?" 

If  we  had  known  how  Lady  Sophie's  prophecy  was 
to  be  fulfilled,  I  wonder  if  I  could  still  have  gone 
downstairs  with  a  light  in  my  eyes  and  a  smile  on 
my  lips? 

Sir  George  took  Lady  Forth  into  dinner,  but  I  sat 
on  his  left  hand.     We  did  not  speak  much  to  each 


198  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

other  at  first,  and  onl}'  of  commonplace  things;  but 
commonplaces  were  glorified  on  this  first  evening  I  had 
ever  spent  under  his  roof.  In  my  eyes  there  had  never 
been  so  perfect  a  dinner-table.  Even  the  old  butler 
and  the  smart  young  footmen  were  notable  men ;  I  was 
grateful  for  every  plate  that  was  set  noiselessly  down 
before  me  as  if  it  had  been  a  personal  favour.  Diana 
Dunbar  was  not  here;  there  would  be  no  discords  in 
the  music  of  life  for  me  to-night. 

"Mine  is  the  sweetest  little  room,"  I  said  in  a  low 
voice  to  Sir  George,  when  Lady  Forth  was  for  a 
moment  preoccupied  by  a  distinguished  general.  "And 
the  desk — thank  you  so  much  for  It.  It  was  the  kindest 
thought.     How  did  you  manage  to  find  It?" 

I  had  not  meant  to  speak  of  this  until  after  dinner, 
as  our  conversation  at  the  table  must  consist  of  broken 
scraps.  But  my  impatience  got  the  better  of  me,  and 
I  reflected  that  plans,  like  promises,  are  often  made  to 
be  broken. 

"I  am  glad  you  like  it!"  he  exclaimed,  his  face  look- 
ing bright  and  eager.  "I  got  hold  of  the  desk  simply 
enough ;  just  told  a  man  to  look  out  for  me,  and  finally 
heard  through  him  that  something  of  the  sort  I  wanted 
was  to  be  sold  at  auction  a  few  days  ago  (a  poor 
Johnny  with  a  fad  for  collecting  antiques  had  gone 
bankrupt,  and  his  treasures  had  to  be  disposed  of), 
so  I  attended  the  sale  myself.  It  was  rather  good 
sport;  and,  by  the  way,  I  have  a  queer  thing  in  con- 
nection with  it  to  tell  you ;  but  It  is  rather  a  long  story, 
so  perhaps  it  had  better  wait  until  after  dinner.  You'll 
give  me  a  little  chance  to  talk  to  you,  when  I  can 


A  PARAGRAPH  IN  A  LETTER        199 

induce  some  of  these  lazy  old  war-dogs  to  move  from 
the  table?  That's  the  worst  of  being  host.  But  do 
you  know,  Miss  Brand,  I  have  been  deliberately  selfish, 
and  asked  down  only  married  chaps,  w^ho  wouldn't  try 
to  snap  what  I  wanted  from  under  my  very  nose  the 
instant  they  could  get  to  the  drawing-room." 

Naturally  I  hurried  back  to  safer  ground,  meta- 
phorically taking  my  stand  upon  the  escritoire. 

"I  am  longing  to  hear  all  about  the  desk,"  I  said. 
"It  seems  too  good  to  be  true  that  I  should  have  it 
once  more,  after  fearing  it  was  lost  for  ever." 
,  Sir  George  opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  at  me  in  a 
puzzled  way,  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  Lady  Forth 
had  been  in  the  act  of  returning  to  her  allegiance. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,"  he  exclaimed,  "that  it's 
your  own  escritoire  come  back  to  you  ?  By  Jove,  I  am 
in  luck!" 

"And  did  you  mean  to  say  you  didn't  know  it  was 
mine?" 

"Indeed  I  did — glad  as  I  would  be  to  claim  credit 
that  I  don't  deserve." 

"What  a  concidence,  then!  I'm  not  sure  which 
would  have  been  more  strange — that  you  should  have 
traced  my  escritoire  and  got  it  back,  or  that  you  should 
have  bought  the  very  thing,  of  all  others,  in  ignor- 
ance." 

"This  makes  certain  odd  little  circumstances  seem 
queerer  than  ever,"  said  Sir  George.  "Would  you 
mind  telling  me  how  you  lost  your  desk?" 

"Oh,  the  cousin  with  whom  I  lived  sold  it  to  a 
dealer  without  my  knowledge  because  I  had  offended 


200  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

her!  That  was  quite  simple — in  one  of  her  tj^pe;  but 
it  was  curious  that  next  day  a  man,  claiming  to  be  a 
solicitor  interested  in  my  affairs,  should  have  called, 
and  offered  money  even  for  one  look  at  the  escritoire. 
He  afterwards  went  to  the  dealer's  and  tried  to  buy 
It  for  a  very  large  sum,  but  it  had  already  been  disposed 
of  to  a  man  the  dealer  had  never  seen  before.  I  heard 
all  this  from  my  cousin's  little  boy — such  a  dear! — the 
only  friend  I  had  until — until  I  met  Lady  Sophie." 

"And  now  you  have  more  than  you  know  what  to 
do  with.  But  did  you  find  out  the  solicitor's  name, 
or  anything  about  him  ?" 

"I  found  out  that  he  was  middle-aged,  had  gray 
hair,  and  wore  big,  dark  spectacles." 

"By  Jove,  that  fellow  Wynnstay!" 

"So  I  thought." 

Our  eyes  met.  I  think  we  were  both  remembering 
the  rainy  night  when  we  had  come  together  so  strangely 
at  Holland  Park  Mansions — remembering  Mr.  Wynn- 
stay's  explanations,  my  suspicions,  and  Sir  George's 
consoling  dissuasions. 

"Look  here,  Miss  Brand,  I'm  not  much  of  a  chap 
for  raking  up  mysteries,  but  I  begin  to  believe  there 
really  is  one  here ;  perhaps  it  may  not  amount  to  much, 
but,  anyhow,  it's  just  as  well  that  we — that  you  have 
got  that  escritoire.  Did  it  never  occur  to  you  there 
might  be  a  secret  drawer  holding  papers  of  importance, 
if  not  to  you,  then  to  someone  else?" 

"A  secret  drawer?"  I  echoed.  "No.  I  thought  I 
knew  the  resources  of  that  escritoire  from  beginning 
to  end.    I'm  almost  certain  that,  if  there  had  been  any- 


A  PARAGRAPH  IN  A  LETTER        201 

thing  of  the  kind,  my  mother  would  have  told  me  of 
it;  or  if  not,  that  I  mvust  have  discovered  it  long  ago." 

''These  things  are  not  always  so  easily  discovered, 
unless  one  suspects,  and  knows  how  to  look  for  them. 
If  I  were  you,  I  would  institute  a  thorough  search. 
Particularly " 

"I  will,"  I  impulsively  broke  in.  'Til  begin  this 
very  night.     But  why  'particularly'?" 

"Because — well,  that  long  story  I  was  saving  up  to 
tell  you  after  dinner  is,  in  short,  this:  Wynnstay  was 
at  the  sale  I  spoke  of;  I  recognised  him  instantly, 
though  I  had  only  met  him  that  night  when  you  and 
I  saw  him  together.  He  rushed  in,  in  a  great  hurry, 
rather  late,  and  looked  read}--  to  kill  someone  when  he 
found  out  that  this  Chippendale  escritoire  had  just  been 
knocked  down  to  me.  He  came  up  afterwards,  and 
tried  all  he  knew  to  get  me  to  sell  it  again  to  him, 
saying  it  had  once  belonged  to  someone  of  whom  he 
had  been  very  fond,  and  he'd  only  just  traced  it,  after 
searching  in  vain  for  a  long  time.  Of  course  I  had 
no  idea  that  the  desk  had  been  yours,  and  when  I  saw 
him  so  upset,  I  was  half  inclined  to  be  good-natured 
and  let  him  have  it;  but  then  I  thought  how  small  a 
chance  there  was  of  getting  another  as  pretty,  before 
you  came  to  Southwood,  and  I  hardened  my  heart.  I'm 
so  jolly  glad  now " 

But  Lady  Forth  had  asked  him  some  question. 

Perhaps  it  was  as  well  that  the  story  had  been  told 
ine  in  brief,  without  waiting,  or,  as  things  were  to  fall 
out,  I  might  never  have  heard  it  at  all. 

I  knew  that  the  men  would  be  at  least  twenty  min- 


202  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

utes  at  the  table  before  coming  to  us  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  I  determined  to  utilize  the  interval  ere  I 
should  be  called  upon  to  redeem  my  promise  to  Sir 
George  in  ransacking  the  escritoire  for  that  suggested 
secret  drawer. 

As  the  ladies  trooped  out  of  the  dining-room,  I — 
the  least,  the  youngest,  the  last,  and  only  untitled  one 
of  the  party — flew  across  the  hall  to  the  wide  oak 
staircase  that  w^ound  above. 

There  were  numerous  turns  and  passages,  with  steps 
up  and  down,  to  be  traversed  on  the  way  to  my  octagon 
room  with  the  bow-windows;  but  I  met  no  one.  As  I 
paused  before  my  own  door,  I  thought  that  I  heard 
a  slight  sound  inside.  "Adele,"  I  observed  to  myself 
as  I  turned  the  handle.  The  door  stuck  a  little,  but 
I  gave  a  resolute  push,  and  it  flew  open. 

Someone  was  kneeling  at  the  desk,  and,  surprised  by 
my  sudden  entrance,  was  in  the  act  of  rising  from  her 
knees.  But  it  was  not  Adele.  It  was  Diana  Dunbar, 
and  round  her,  on  the  floor,  were  scattered  in  confu- 
sion every  drawer,  every  movable  stick  of  wood  from 
the  escritoire. 

She  sprang  up,  her  eyes  dilated,  her  bosom,  under  a 
dark  evening  cloak,  rising  and  falling.  For  a  moment 
we  stared  at  each  other  without  speaking;  but  it  was 
I  who  first  found  breath. 

''Good-evening,  Miss  Dunbar,"  I  said.  "You  didn't 
expect  me  quite  so  soon,  perhaps?" 


CHAPTER   XX 

*'l   HOLD  YOU   IN   THE   HOLLOW  OF   MY   HAND" 

"I  WAS  writing  you  a  letter,"  Diana  Dunbar  an- 
swered, defiant,  but  panting.  ^ 'There  it  is — on  the 
desk— half  done." 

She  pointed  to  a  sheet  of  paper  and  an  envelope 
with  a  pen  lying  beside  them.  The  whole  room  was 
perfumed  with  the  sweet,  subtle  scent  that  always  hung 
about  her  person  and  her  clothing.  I  felt  that  I  should 
have  known  she  had  been  there  even  if  she  had  gone 
before  I  came. 

*'I  drove  over  from  Mrs.  Marlowe's,  where  we  are 
staying,"  she  desperately  went  on.  "I  wanted  very 
much  to  see  you.  Dinner  here  was  later  than  with 
us,  and  you  had  not  yet  finished.  I  could  not  wait, 
so  I  asked  for  Lady  Sophie's  maid,  and  bade  her  show 
me  into  your  room,  where  I  might  sit  down  quietly 
and  write." 

"Is  it  your  custom  to  write  on  your  knees,  and  do 
you  always  take  out  the  drawers  of  the  desk  at  which 
you  sit  before  beginning?"  I  demanded  severely. 

"I  found  the  drawers  exactly  as  they  are  now,  and 
left  them  so.  I  don't  know  who  has  disturbed  your 
desk,  certainly  not  I.  I  had  dropped  something  of  my 
own,    and    stooped    to    look    for    it   just    before    you 


203 


204  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

"I  don't  doubt  that  you  had  'stooped  to  look  for 
something,"  I  said  with  emphasis,  "but  I  venture  to 
think  that  the  something  was  mine,  not  yours." 

"Of  what  do  you  accuse  me?"  she  fiercely  broke  In. 

"You  have  been  sent  here  by  the  man  who  calls 
himself  Wynnstay.  But  for  him  you  would  have  heard 
nothing  of  this  escritoire.  What  he  and  Lady  Dunbar 
know  about  me  you  know  now  also,  though  you  may 
not  have  known  it  long.  You  perhaps  have  a  separate 
purpose  of  your  own  in  coming,  but  you  are  'killing 
two  birds  with  one  stone.'  Still,  I  think  that  I  was  in 
time;  I  think  that  you  have  not  yet  done  what  you 
tried  to  do." 

"You  are  mad!"  she  ejaculated.  "I  don't  know  what 
you  are  talking  about.  I  don't  believe  you  know^  your- 
self." 

"You  were  looking  for  the  secret  drawer  with  the 
papers,"  I  said,  as  decidedly  as  if  I  were  not  speaking 
at  a  venture,  merely  making  use  of  Sir  George's  pre- 
sumption to  startle  her  if  she  were  guilty. 

As  I  uttered  the  words,  I  kept  my  eyes  upon  her 
face,  and  in  the  clear  electric  light  with  which  she 
had  flooded  the  room  I  saw  her  colour  come  and  go. 
She  drew  in  her  breath  sharply,  but  before  she  could 
speak  I  had  begun  again,  moved  by  some  influence 
which  I  did  not  understand — an  influence  that  did  not 
whisper  of  the  dark  horror  that  can  come  of  a  few 
impulsive  words. 

"I  might  have  saved  you  the  trouble,"  I  went  on, 
almost  calmly,  "if  you  had  chosen  to  ask  me  instead 
of  trying  to  help  yourself.     I  have  already  opened  the 


"IN  THE  HOLLOW  OF  MY  HAND"      205 

drawer  and  removed  the  papers,  whfch  shall  never  leave 
me  after  this  until  1  choose  to  make  use  of  them." 

"You  little  fiend!  you  little  tiger-cat!"  she  hissed. 

"Ah!  you  don't  pretend  to  misunderstand  me  any 
longer." 

"It's  your  turn  now,  Consuelo  Brand ;  you  have 
the  advantage  of  me  in  this  one  m^ove;  I  admit  it. 
No,  I  won't  pretend  to  misunderstand  you.  I  did 
know  about  the  escritoire;  I  did  look  for  the  drawer. 
Those  papers  you  have  are  of  no  importance  to  you. 
They  are  useless ;  you  can  do  nothing  with  them.  But 
my  poor  mother,  whose  life  has  been  a  tragedy,  can- 
not bear  that  they  should  exist.  Haven't  you  seen  how 
she  has  changed  in  the  past  few  weeks?  She  has  aged 
ten  years  in  as  many  days.  My  heart  has  been  break- 
ing for  her.  At  last  I  persuaded  her  to  tell  me  all 
the  truth.  'You  don't  think  I  can  help  you,'  I  said, 
'but  the  mouse  gnawed  the  net  that  held  the  lion  pris- 
oner, and  you  must  not  despise  what  I  can  do.'  If  I 
could  have  got  into  this  room  (which  was  mine  last 
year  when  we  stayed  here)  and  discovered  the  drawer 
and  the  papers  by  the  instructions  which  I  had  brought 
with  me,  before  you  came,  I  would  have  done  it  and 
gone  away.  Yet  I  had  provided  for  this  thing  that 
has  happened." 

"You  had  provided  for  it  by  telling  me  falsehoods, 
which  I  did  not  believe,  but  found  you  out  instead,"  I 
interpolated. 

"Yes,  I  did  tell  you  falsehoods.  I  am  working  for 
another,  not  myself,  and  I  am  not  too  scrupulous  in 
a  good  cause.    If  you  had  believed  my  story  about  the 


2o6  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

letter  (which  I  really  did  begin,  as  a  blind),  I  would 
have  given  you  certain  information  which  it  is  in  my 
power  to  give,  and  left  you  with  my  other  errand 
undone,  hoping  for  better  luck  next  time.  But  you 
did  not  believe;  you  thought  yourself  supernaturally 
clever  in  reading  my  real  motive  and  flinging  it  at 
my  head.  Well,  I  am  no  coward;  I  admit  the  truth, 
as  I  was  ready  from  the  first  to  do  if  the  necessity 
arose.  You  cannot  harm  me,  but  I — I  hold  you  in  the 
hollow  of  my  hand,  like  a  white  mouse  whose  bones 
I  can  crunch — crunch!  I  will  ofFer  you  just  one 
chance,  white  mouse.  Show  yourself  merciful  to  a 
poor  woman  who  is  growing  old,  who  has  done  you 
no  evil,  and  I'll  leave  you  the  piece  of  luck  that  by 
a  fluke  has  come  in  your  way.  Give  me  those  papers, 
valueless  to  you,  because  they  can  prove  nothing,  but 
precious  to  my  mother,  and  I  stand  aside.  You  may 
marry  Sir  George  Seaforth  in  peace — if  you  can  get 
him." 

''I  cannot  see  why  you  should  be  the  arbiter  of  my 
fate,  Miss  Dunbar,"  I  answered  quietly,  though  my 
voice  trembled.  ''It  seems  to  me  the  worst  of  taste 
that  you  and  I  should  discuss  such  a  subject;  while 
as  for  the  papers,  they  are  mine,  and  I  shall  certainly 
not  give  them  up." 

My  words  surprised  myself.  Until  she  had  con- 
firmed my  vague  suspicions,  I  had  been  in  the  dark 
regarding  the  existence  of  a  secret  drawer  and  its  sup- 
positious contents.  But  now  the  papers  that  were^ 
hidden  alike  from  me  and  those  who  had  risked  so  much 
to  obtain  them  were  the  immediate  jewels  of  my  soul. 


"IN  THE  HOLLOW  OF  MY  HAND"      207 

If  possession  be  nine  points  of  the  law,  they  were 
hardly  yet  my  property.  But  I  felt  them  so  much  mine 
that  I  would  have  cut  off  my  right  hand  sooner  than 
yield  them  to  Diana  Dunbar  or  any  of  her  faction. 

"Have  you  no  heart?"  she  retorted — "no  pity  for  my 
mother?" 

"Has  she  any  pity  for  me?"  I  echoed. 

Somehow  the  words  went  home,  and  Diana  winced  ; 
why,  I  did  not  know. 

"You  are  mistaken  in  thinking  that  I  cannot  be 
the  'arbiter  of  your  fate,'  she  quoted.  "At  this  mo- 
ment your  future  rests  with  me.  To  be  sure,  after 
what  I  could  tell  you,  a  thoroughly  mercenary  girl, 
eaten  up  with  ambition,  utterly  devoid  of  self-respect, 
might  marry  a  man  and  be  happy  in  getting  what  she 
had  bargained  to  get.  But  though  I  hate  you  as  I 
never  hated  any  other  human  being,  I  do  you  the  justice 
to  believe  you  are  not  such  a  girl  as  that.  Ignorance 
IS  bliss;  ignorance  is  often  honourable.  If  you  would 
keep  it,  give  up  the  papers." 

"I  shall  not  give  up  the  papers,"  I  repeated,  and 
moved  to  the  bell,  which  by  raising  my  hand  I  could 
touch. 

There  had  been  that  in  Diana's  fine  eyes  for  the 
fraction  of  a  second  which  had  warned  me  that  pru- 
dence might  be  valour.  She  had  been  led  to  believe 
that  I  had  the  papers  (whatever  they  were)  on  my 
person ;  and  she  was  a  bigger,  stronger  woman  than  I. 
I  had  spoken  that  which  was  not  true  in  saying  that 
I  had  found  the  secret  drawer,  and  removed  its  con- 
tents; but  the  words  had  seemed  to  utter  themselves 


2o8  MY  LADY  CIx\DERELLA 

without  my  volition.  I  was  to  be  punished  for  them 
later;  but  now  I  did  not  wish  Diana  to  learn  by  force 
the  deception  I  had  practised. 

''Very  well,  then,  keep  the  papers,  and  repent  at 
leisure.  There  are  many  ways  of  making  you  regret 
your  obstinacy,  and  I  assure  you  they  won't  be  lacking. 
But  you  have  chosen  knowledge  instead  of  ignorance, 
and  now  you  shall  hear  why  you  can  never  be  George 
Seaforth's  wife,  if  you  would  retain  your  self-respect." 

"What  if  I  refuse  to  hear  you?"  I  said,  my  voice 
sounding  strangely  faint  and  far-away  in  my  own 
ears.  "What  if  I  touch  the  bell,  and  bid  Adele  show 
you  downstairs?" 

"Do  so,  and  the  story  shall  come  to  you  from  other 
lips  than  mine.  I  promised  you  a  fortnight  ago  that 
I  would  find  out  the  secret  of  your  coming  to  Lady 
Sophie  de  Gretton.  I  hav^  found  it  out.  And  If  you 
will  not  hear  it  from  me,  I  shall  do  as  I  once  threat- 
ened, and  tell  the  truth  to  the  whole  w^orld.  I  do 
not  believe  George  Seaforth  has  ever  asked  you  to 
marry  him,  or  ever  will.  But  If  he  should  do  so.  It 
will  only  be  through  a  mistaken  sense  of  honour,  be- 
cause he  feels  that  his  folly  has  Irretrievably  Injured 
you,  spoiled  your  future.  Shall  all  your  so-called 
friends  whisper  about  this  thing  that  I  know,  until  the 
story  comes  to  you,  or  will  you  hear  It  now  from  me?" 

"I  will  hear  It  now  from  you,"  I  echoed  mechan- 
ically. 

"Very  well,"  said  Diana,  She  paused  a  moment,  and 
then  went  on:  "One  night,  a  few  months  ago,  three 
young  men  were  dining  together  at  their  club.    Some- 


"IN  THE  HOLLOW  OF  MY  HAND"    209 

how  the  subject  of  women  who  were  famous  as  beau- 
ties came  up.  One  of  the  three  said  that  to  become 
a  social  celebrity  a  girl  must,  in  the  first  place,  have 
a  good  social  position,  and  her  people  must  be  well 
and  favourably  known.  Or  else  she  must  be  a  great 
heiress,  with  money  enough  to  force  herself  down  the 
throat  of  society. 

"The  second  man  thought  rather  differently.  He 
argued  that  a  woman's  fame  as  a  beauty  depended 
upon  some  lucky  chance.  Nobody  could  ever  tell  why 
one  girl  or  woman,  perhaps  not  as  handsome  as  her 
neighbours,  should  suddenly  be  lauded  above  them  as 
the  most  exquisite  being  on  earth.  (Of  course  actresses 
and  other  professionals  who  live  by  making  themselves 
conspicuous  did  not  come  into  the  category  at  all; 
these  men  were  talking  merely  of  women  in  societ)^) 

"And  the  third  man's  opinion  differed  from  his 
friends.  He  said  that  it  would  be  the  easiest  thing  in 
the  world  to  make  the  reputation  of  a  beauty.  A  few 
newspapers  might  do  it,  if  they  went  to  work  in  the 
right  way;  but  still  better  would  it  be  for  a  popular 
young  man  to  undertake  the  task. 

"He  then  went  on  to  bet  that  he  himself  could  'work 
such  a  scheme.'  Given  a  young  woman,  pretty,  well 
educated,  with  decent  manners,  no  matter  how  poor, 
how  insignificant,  how  entirely  unknow^n  at  the  begin- 
ing  of  a  season,  by  the  end  he  could  render  her  the 
most-admired,  most-sought-after  girl  in  town. 

"His  friends  wanted  to  know  how  he  would  accom^ 
plish  this.  It  would  be  very  simple,  he  returned.  He 
would  show  the  girl  great  attention,  send  her  flowers, 


2IO  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

be  apparently  her  devoted  slave.  He  would  rave  over 
her  perfections  at  every  opportunity,  and  by  force  of 
example  induce  others  to  think  it  M/as  'the  thing'  to 
admire  her  inordinately. 

"His  two  companions  were  ready  to  bet  him  almost 
anything  that  with  all  his  popularity  he  could  not 
make  a  celebrity  of  an  unknown  girl,  without  money 
or  position,  try  as  he  would.  What  had  begun  in  idle 
fun  ended  in  earnest.  There  was  a  wager  between 
the  three  of  a  thousand  pounds,  the  m.an  who  had  made 
the  bet  to  divide  the  sum  between  the  other  two,  if 
by  the  end  of  the  season  he  had  failed  in  bringing  off 
his  coup. 

*'He  was  to  ask  a  certain  lady,  well  known  in  the 
set  to  which  they  all  belonged,  to  find  a  suitable  young 
woman.  She  was  to  have  so  much  for  her  trouble  in 
chaperoning  and   launching   the   girl   in   society,   and 

Ge the  man  was  to  pay  the  Experiment's  board, 

pay  for  her  smart  clothing,  and  see  that  she  had  plenty 
of  pocket-money " 

**Be  silent!"  I  cried  out  in  ungovernable  anguish, 
writhing  under  the  lash  of  the  awful  words.  'I'll  not 
believe  it.     You  are  lying  to  me." 

*'So  you  guess  the  man's  name?  You  see  now  why 
Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton  took  you  lip ;  why,  though  she 
is  poor,  and  stingy,  and  selfish,  you  have  had  every 
luxury.  You  understand  why  George  Seaforth  has  been 
at  your  feet,  has  let  himself  be  gossiped  about  as  your 
admirer.  Think  of  it !  Everything  you  have  on  at  this 
moment,  from  your  shoes  to  your  pretty  pink  frock, 
has  been  paid  for  out  of  his  pocket." 


"IN  THE  HOLLOW  OF  MY  HAND"    211 

I  shuddered,  and  a  low  moan  of  misery  came  shiver- 
ing from  my  h"ps. 

"It  isn't  true!  You  mean  to  kill  me!"  I  stammered, 
with  a  tearing  sob. 

"Ask  George  himself.  I  dare  you  to  ask  him,"  Diana 
taunted  me. 

"I  would  not  so  insult  him.  You  are  safe  in  bidding 

me   do    that,    and   you   know   it.    Why "    and    I 

seemed  to  draw  a  breath  of  free  air,  as  I  caught  at 
the  wings  of  hope — "why,  you  are  my  enemy!  You 
want  to  ruin  me.  You  have  tried  before,  and  failed. 
Girls  in  certain  books  and  plays  believe  what  the  vil- 
lains tell  them,  and  die  of  grief,  or  give  up  the  men 
they  love,  for  a  lie's  sake.  You  are  the  villain  of  my 
story;  but  I  am  not  such  a  poor  toy.  I  am  a  living, 
breathing  woman.  I  do  love  George  Seaforth,  and 
I  think  that  he  loves  me.  I  should  be  unworthy  of 
his  love  if  I  wronged  him  by  so  base,  so  hateful  a  sus- 
picion. Only  you  could  have  been  cruel  enough  to 
invent  such  a  tale.  Now  that  you  have  told  it,  now 
that  you  have  done  your  worst,  leave  me,  with  the 
thought  that  you  have  failed  again." 

"You  are  less  of  a  woman  than  I  fancied  you!"  she 
cried.  "You  do  believe,  but  you  would  shut  your  eyes 
to  the  truth.  You  would  marry  him  in  spite  of  all, 
because  he  is  rich,  because  he  could  give  you  a  good 
position.  But  you  will  find  yourself  mistaken.  He 
has  gone  as  far  as  he  will  go  in  this  flirtation.  You 
will  never  be  asked  to  be  his  wife,  and  you  will  have 
dragged  your  dignity  in  the  dust  in  vain." 

"If  I  thought  for  an  instant  that  you  had  told  me 


212  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

the  truth,  I  would  never  see  him  again;  I  would  leave 
his  house  to-night,"  I  said,  my  voice  under  control 
once  more.  "But  your  fingers  are  not  skilful  enough 
to  play  upon  my  heartstrings  whatever  tune  you  please. 
I  was  startled,  carried  out  of  myself  at  first;  but  I 
am  stronger  again  now.  If  you  do  not  leave  me  in- 
stantly I  will  ring  the  bell  and  have  you  turned  out 
of  the  house." 

"Oh,  I  am  going,  though  if  you  were  not  the  com- 
mon, underbred  person  that  j^ou  are,  you  would  not 
stoop  to  rid  yourself  of  me  by  force." 

Diana  moved  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

"Just  one  thing  more,"  she  said.  "Jack  Marlowe, 
at  whose  mother's  house  I  am  staying,  was  one  of  the 
men  in  the  wager.  Jerry  Weyland  was  the  other,  and 
it  was  he  who  confessed  to  me.  I  had  to  promise 
to  marry  him  before  I  could  make  him  speak,  but  it 
was  worth  it.  And  I  shall  keep  the  promise  or  not 
as  I  please.  He  will  tell  you  what  he  told  me,  if 
you  choose  to  ask  him." 

"I  do  not  choose,"  I  responded  steadilj-. 

"Lady  Sophie,  then.  If  3^ou  surprised  her  with  what 
you  know,  you  could  get  the  whole  truth  from 
her." 

"I  will  tell  her  what  I  have  heard  from  3^ou,"  I 
corrected.  "I  have  meant  to  do  that  since  you  began. 
One  only  asks  questions  when  one  has  suspicions.  I 
have  none.  But  she  shall  know  what  you  have  done 
and  said  to-night." 

"I  wish  you  joy  of  the  interview,"  Diana  cried,  with 
a  bitter  laugh. 


"IN  THE  HOLLOW  OF  MY  HAND"    213 

And  she  was  gone  before  I  could  have  answered,  If 
I  would. 

For  a  long  time  I  stood  still,  my  hands  tightly 
clasped  above  my  heart — and  they  were  cold  as  hands 
of  ice.  Only  a  few  minutes  had  passed  since  I  had  left 
the  light  and  laughter  and  flower-fragrance  of  the 
dining-room,  yet  I  felt  as  if  I  had  lived  through  years. 
I  had  spoken  confidently  to  Diana,  and  I  trusted  that 
I  had  sent  her  away  with  a  galling  sense  of  defccit. 

But  her  words  had  stung  me  with  the  sting  of  poi- 
sonous serpents.  I  had  said  truly  that  I  did  not  believe 
Sir  George  could  so  cruelly  have  wronged  me,  but  her 
story  might  explain  many  things.  The  hot,  scandalous 
breath  of  it  had  power  to  blow  away  the  mystery  which 
had  bewildered  me,  as  a  wind  dissipates  a  low-lying 
fog  on  a  mountain-side.  I  could  not  help  recalling  each 
merciless  detail  she  had  flung  at  me.  What  if,  after 
all,  the  tale  were  true? 

"I  won't  let  myself  think  of  it!"  I  exclaimed,  half 
aloud,  striving  against  the  insidious  whisperings  that 
seemed  to  mutter  in  my  ears,  as  though  hissed  by  the 
lips  of  evil  spirits.     'Til  go  down — " 

But  at  the  door  I  paused.  How  could  I  go  down? 
I  had  not  thought  of  a  mirror;  but  I  knew  that  I 
must  be  pale  and  strange  to  look  upon.  Despite  the 
training  of  the  past  few  weeks,  I  was  not  actress 
enough  to  smile  and  cover  the  gnawing  fox  with  my 
cloak. 

HI  could  bring  myself  to  face  them  all  in  the 
drawing-room,  where  the  men  must  have  arrived  by 
this  time,  and  Sir  George  would  be  looking  for  me, 


214  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

it  would  be  better  than  staying  here  alone.  I  felt  as 
if  I  might  go  mad  if  I  were  shut  up  with  my  misery', 
to  fight  against  torturing  fears,  and  the  doubts  that 
were  so  disloyal  to  my  love. 

Yet  I  was  afraid  if  I  went  among  the  others  I  might 
break  into  hysterical  sobbing.  It  would  be  horrible 
to  have  eyes  upon  me  now ;  they  would  be  like  separate 
pincers,  searching  for  my  quivering  nerves. 

If  I  stayed  I  might  try  to  banish  the  consciousness 
of  trouble,  by  examining  the  escritoire,  which  was  still 
open  and  empty,  as  Diana  had  left  it.  For  a  moment 
I  contemplated  the  effort,  but  almost  at  once  dis- 
missed the  thought. 

My  brain  was  in  a  turmoil.  It  would  be  impossible 
to  concentrate  my  mind,  in  such  a  mood,  upon  a  con- 
sistent plan  of  operation.  When  I  had  been  reassured 
by  Lady  Sophie — dear,  kind  Lady  Sophie ! — as  I  surely, 
surely  would  be  reassured  before  this  night  was  over, 
then  I  should  be  in  proper  condition  to  make  the 
trial. 

As  I  thought,  with  a  childishly  homesick  longing,  of 
Lady  Sophie,  craving  the  comfort  of  her  presence,  there 
came  a  light  tap,  with  a  suggestion  of  rings  clicking 
against  the  panel,  on  my  door. 

Almost  simultaneously,  without  waiting  for  permis- 
sion, Lady  Sophie  herself  came  in.  I  felt  supersti- 
tiously  that  my  wish  had  brought  her  to  me,  and,  hur- 
rying towards  her,  I  wound  my  arms  about  her  waist. 

"Why,  my  dear  child,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  a  little 
ghost  you  look!    Are  you  ill?" 

She  held  me  closely,  as  I  nestled  to  her,  and  the 


"IN  THE  HOLLOW  OF  MY  HAND"    215 

perfume  of  her  laces,  with  a  single  rose  she  wore,  was 
sweet  as  consolation.  Everything  would  be  right  now. 
Everything  must  be  right.  Such  misery  as  I  had  con- 
templated, staring  down  over  a  dark  precipice  of  fear, 
was  too  bad,  too  cruel,  to  come  mto  my  young  life. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THE   ORDEAL    BY    FIRE 

"Oh,  you  dear,  I'm  so  glad  you're  here,"  I  whis- 
pered. "I've  had  a  shock.  Diana  Dunbar  has  been  in 
my  room.  I  came  up,  and  found  her  looking  through 
the  escritoire.  See!  all  the  drawers  are  lying  about. 
She  has  been  saying  horrible  things  to  me.  I  feel  half 
dead." 

"The  vindictive  wretch!"  responded  Lady  Sophie 
satisfactorily.  "I  shouldn't  have  thought  jealousy  would 
have  carried  even  her  so  far.  But  she  could  say  nothing 
to  you  which  you  need  mind.  George  doesn't  love  her, 
and  never  did,  though  she  inveigled  him  into  a  mild 
flirtation  last  year.  He  loves  you,  and  she  can't  take 
his  love  away  from  you.  There,  doesn't  that  cheer 
you  up?" 

"Nothing  can  cheer  me  till  I've  relieved  my  m.ind 
by  telling  it  all  to  you — the  whole  hateful  story.  She 
said,  oh!  the  most  monstrous  thing,  Lady  Sophie — that 
— that  Sir  George  made  a  wager " 

Under  my  arm,  which  belted  her  waist,  I  felt  a 
slight  start,  that  made  me  glance  quickly  up  into  her 
face.  What  I  saw  there  turned  my  heart  sick.  She 
looked  anxious,  apprehensive.  Her  eyes  appeared  sud- 
denly to  have  dilated,  and  when  I  would  have  drawn 
them,  with  my  pleading  ones,  they  avoided  the  appeal. 
216 


THE  ORDEAL  BY  FIRE  217 

"You  should'nt  have  listened  to  that  malicious  girl," 
she  said  hastily.     You  owe  it  to  George " 

"I  didn't  listen.  After  strength  had  come  back  to 
me,  and  I  could  break  in  upon  her,  I  told  her  to  leave 
me.  But,  oh.  Lady  Sophie,  what  I  have  suffered!  I 
wouldn't  believe — but  tell  me — for  the  love  of  Heaven 
tell  me  that  there  never  was  such  a  wager — that  Sir 
George  never  came  to  you  asking  you  to  find  a  girl, 
that  he  might  make  an  experiment,  for  the  sake  of 
making  a  bet.    I " 

''Hush — hush,  dear!"  faltered  Lady  Sophie.  "Diana 
has  grossly  exaggerated." 

"Exaggerated?  My  God!  then  there  is  truth  in  it, 
after  all!" 

My  arms  dropped  from  her  waist.  I  caught  at  the 
back  of  a  chair  and  held  myself  up  with  a  rigid  grasp, 
for  my  knees  were  giving  way. 

She  came  quickly  to  me  again,  and  snatched  one  of 
my  hands,  though  it  lay  limply  in  hers. 

"Don't,  don't  be  foolish,  Consuelo,"  she  commanded, 
almost  harshly.  "I  can't  wonder,  if  you  heard  this 
story  from  Diana,  that  you  are  mortified  and  shocked. 
But  you  must  let  George  speak  for  himself.  I  would 
tell  you  all  there  is  to  tell — really,  there's  not  a  great 
deal! — though  I  w^ould  gladly  have  kept  it  from  you 
if  I  could;  but  it  will  be  so  much  better  coming  from 
George,     He  has  the  right " 

"He  has  no  right  if  he  has  done  this  thing!"  I  cried. 

"You  forget,  child.  He  is  a  man  of  the  world, 
flattered  and  spoiled  since  his  boyhood,  tired  years 
ago  of  all  the  pleasures  which  seem  so  wonderful,  so 


?i8  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

enthralling,  to  a  debutante.  Naturally,  he  took  up 
a  novel  idea.  There  are  a  hundred  excuses  for  him, 
which  only  he  can  plead.  You  do  not  really  love  him, 
If  you  could  not  forgive.  Probably  Diana  has  given 
you  a  totally  v^^rong  version.  You  must  let  George 
know  that  something  of  this  sort  has  reached  your  ears, 
and  put  him  upon  his  defence.  He  will  confess  every- 
thing, like  the  brave,  true  fellow  that  he  is  at  heart." 

Confess!  Ah,  this  was  perhaps  what  he  would  have 
confessed  on  that  sweet,  white  day  among  the  lilies. 
How  I  wished  now  that  he  had  finished  then!  for 
everything  would  have  been  over  long  ago,  and  this 
burning  pain  at  the  core  of  my  heart  might  have  ceased 
to  throb  so  fiercely.  By  this  time  a  merciful  numbness 
might  have  come  to  help  me;  and  at  least  I  should  be 
far,  far  away,  out  of  his  reach,  out  of  his  life  forever. 

''Come — come,  dear,"  Lady  Sophie  was  saying.  "Let 
me  go  to  George.  You  shall  have  a  talk  with  him  out 
in  the  garden.  No  one  shall  know.  I  will  arrange 
it  all.     In  an  hour  you  will  be  happy  again." 

I  heard  her  but  vaguely.  As  I  answered,  a  hand 
seemed  clutching  at  my  throat,  choking  my  breath 
away. 

"I  can't  speak  to  him,"  I  said,  as  firmly  as  I  could. 
''Nothing  that  you  could  urge  would  make  me  do  that. 
Lady  Sophie.  You  don't  realize  what  it  would  be; 
for  you  are  taking  so  much — so  much  for  granted. 
He  has  never  said  a  word  of  love  to  me.  If  he  had, 
if  I  had  been  asked  to  be  his  wife,  and  had  accepted 
— if  we  had  been  engaged  when  this  story  reached  me, 
I  might  have  gone  to  him  with  it;  though  even  then 


THE  ORDEAL  BY  FIRE  219 

I  can't  see  that  it  would  have  done  my  good.  I  couldn't 
have  forgotten ;  I  should  never  have  been  sure  that  he' 
was  not  trying  to  atone.  You  admit  that — that  the 
thing's  true.     That  ends  it." 

"How  cruel,  if  you  must  hear  this,  that  it  couldn't 
have  been  later!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  see  how  you  feel; 
I  see  that  it  would  be  harder  for  you  to  accuse  him  and 
ask  explanations,  than  I  had  thought  at  first.  It  might 
seem  like  a  suggestion  that  he  must  compensate  you  by 
making  an  offer  of  marriage,  though  I  know  as  well 
as  I  know  I  live,  that  such  a  thing  would  not  even 
occur  to  George.  But  write  him  a  letter.  I'll  help 
you  with  it.     Sit  down  now  and " 

''No,  no,"  I  persisted  chokingly.  *'You  must  tell  me, 
if  I  am  to  hear  more." 

"I  don't  know^  what  you  have  heard  already.  You 
are  obstinate,  unreasonable,  Consuelo.  You " 

"Is  it  true  that  he  asked  you  to  find  a  girl  for  him 
— poor,  unknown,  but  a  lady,  and — not  bad-looking? 
Is  it  true  that  this  girl  was  to  be  used  as  a  pivot  for 
his  vanity  to  turn  on — 'made  into  a  celebrity,'  by  a 
process  of  vivisection,  for  all  the  world  to  see?" 

"The  world  was  not  to  know.  George,  two  other 
men,  and  I " 

"Oh,  Lady  Sophie,  this  is  the  motive  for  all  your 

kindness,  then  ?    That  day  in  the  Park And  I  loved 

you  so!     I  could  have  died  for  you,  in  my  gratitude!" 

"My  child,  my  child,  you  wring  my  heart!  So  did 
I  love  you,  so  do  I  love  you  now.  I  can't  tell  you  how 
dear  you  have  grown  to  me,  truly,  honestly.  I  entered 
into  this  jest  before  T  knew  you " 


220  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

"This  jest!"  I  echoed,  sobbing.  "It  bids  fair  to  be 
a  sorry  jest  for  me!" 

"It  will  be  what  you  make  it.  For  Heaven's  sake 
take  this  more  quietly,  more  sensibly,  Consuelo.  You 
are  shattering  my  nerves.  Good  gracious!  how  shall 
I  talk  to  you,  how  can  I  best  make  you  see  reason? 
Listen  to  me.  Do  you  remember  coming  upon  George 
and  me  that  first  night  at  Lady  Dunbar's  ball,  before 
he  had  been  introduced  to  you  ?  I  don't  know^  whether 
you  heard  anything  or  not.  I  was  afraid  then  that  you 
had. 

"But  he'd  met  j^ou  twice  after  I'd  talked  w^ith  you 
in  the  Park,  not  dreaming  that  you  were  the  girl  I 
had  chosen  for  his  experiment.  He  admired  you  more 
than  anyone  he  had  ever  seen,  and  begged  that,  if  it 
were  not  too  late,  I  would  no  longer  try  to  find  a 
protegee  to  chaperon  on  his  behalf.  If  you  could  be 
got  to  fill  the  place,  it  would  be  perfect  from  his  point 
of  view.  But  already  he  was  half  in  love,  and  his 
conscience  had  begun  to  wake. 

"He  saw  that,  though  in  carrying  out  his  plan  a 
girl  would  have  advantages  given  her  which  other- 
wise she  could  never  enjoy,  still  she  might  have  reason 
to  complain  if  she  learned  the  truth,  discovered  that 
she  had  been  used  as  a  sort  of  pawn  in  a  game  of 
chess.  He  felt  it  might  be  an  injustice;  but  then 
you  came  up  with  Captain  Weyland  and  interrupted 
us.  I  had  guessed  already,  from  his  description,  that 
the  paragon  of  beauty  he  had  seen  was  none  other  than 
Consuelo  Brand. 

"The  day  before,  I  prevented  his  m.eeting  you  at  my 


THE  ORDEAL  BY  FIRE  221 

house,  for  I  wanted  him  first  to  behold  my  protegee 
in  her  pretty  new  clothes,  charmingly  framed,  presented 
against  a  becoming  background.  But  Fate  had  circum- 
vented me,  and  I  scented  a  romance.  You  can  imiagine 
what  concealed  delight  I  felt  in  introducing  him  to  the 
'experiment'  in  the  shape  of  the  girl  he  had  found 
and  lost  again. 

"I  had  almost  given  up  finding  the  right  sort  of 
person  when  I  chanced  to  see  you  in  the  Park  that 
afternoon,  and  overheard  your  wish  for  a  different 
lot  in  life.  Then  a  voice  seemed  to  say  to  me,  'There's 
the  very  one  you  have  been  looking  for.'  And  you 
must  remember,  Consuelo,  that  I  asked  if  you  would 
be  ready  to  give  up  your  old,  dull  existence  for  even 
a  few  weeks  of  pleasure  and  admiration  ?" 

"I  remember  everything — everything,"  I  said. 

"You  took  your  chances.  And  I  honestly  thought 
them  very  good.  I'm  a  poor  woman,  and  I  should  not 
have  been  able  to  provide  for  you ;  but  I  saw  that  you 
were  beautiful,  and  might  be  made  far  more  beautiful. 
I  hardly  dared  hope  you  would  succeed  in  snaring  so 
splendid  and  wary  a  bird  as  George  Seaforth,  but  it 
was  probable  you  would  have  opportunities  of  marry- 
ing well.  Now,  as  it  has  turned  out,  you  have  done 
better  than  any  other  debutante  for  years.  Don't,  for 
the  sake  of  pique,  throw  away  your  happiness." 

I  could  not  answer.  I  had  dropped  into  a  chair,  at 
last,  and  sat  with  my  face  buried  in  my  hands. 

''Tell  me,  dear,  that  you  are  going  to  be  a  good, 
sensible  girl,"  she  went  on,  coaxingly. 

What  should  I  sav  to  her?     My  mind  w^as  fixed. 


222  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

There  was  only  one  thing  for  me  to  do,  and  I  meant 
to  do  It,  if  it  killed  me.  But  I  did  not  want  to 
make  a  scene,  which  would  only  inflame  the  wound 
that  had  been  dealt  me  by  turning  the  dagger  in  the 
quivering  flesh. 

I  felt  so  weak,  so  utterly  spent  in  body,  that  I 
dreaded  lest  my  spirit  also  should  be  robbed  of  strength 
if  again  it  were  flooded  with  the  torrent  of  her 
pleading. 

"Let  me  think — I  beg  that  you  will  let  me  think,"  I 
Implored. 

I  did  not  look  up,  and  my  fingers  still  covered  my 
wet  eyes,  but  I  heard  a  faint,  quick  sigh  of  relief. 

"Of  course  you  shall  think,  child,  as  much  as  ever 
you  like,"  Lady  Sophie  soothingly  assured  me.  "It  Is 
only  sudden  decisions  that  I  dread.  Think — think  how 
good  George  really  is,  how^  handsome;  how  dearly  he 
loves  you,  how  his  heart  would  be  broken  if  you  would 
not  forgive  him.  When  you  have  thought  of  all  those 
things,  and  said  to  yourself,  'Perhaps  if  I'm  harsh  with 
him  now  I  shall  lose  him  irrevocably,  because  in  sheer 
misery  and  angry  pique  he  may  ask  some  other  less 
scrupulous  girl  to  marry  him,'  you  will  be  ready  to 
possess  your  soul  in  patience,  and  quietly  wait  for 
him  to  propose  to  you.  When  he  has  safely  done  that, 
you  can  fly  out  at  him  and  accuse  him  of  what  you 
like.  He  will  know  then  how  to  defend  himself  and 
win  your  pardon.  I  defy  the  hardest  woman  not  to 
forgive  George  Seaforth,  with  his  arms  around  her, 
those  honest  eyes  of  his  looking  Into  hers.  Now,  dear, 
I'll  bathe  your  head  with  eau  de  Cologne  as  you  did 


THE  ORDEAL  BY  FIRE  223 

mine  when  I  was  ill;  and  presently  you'll  be  ready  to 
tell  me  that  you've  thought  it  all  satisfactorily  out,  that 
you  are  yourself  again." 

*'Thank  you,  Lady  Sophie,"  I  whispered  brokenly. 
"But — but  I  want  to  be  alone.  You  are  kind — you 
mean  to  be  kind — only  it  is  better  for  me  to  be  alone. 
Please,  please!  I  don't  know  what  will  become  of 
me  if  I  can't  be  quite  by  myself  for  a  while." 

My  voice  rose  stormily;  I  could  not  hold  it  in  con- 
trol; and  Lady  Sophie  rose  from  her  knees  by  my  side 
with  rustling  haste. 

"Very  well.  You  know  what  is  best  for  yourself, 
I  suppose,"  she  agreed.  "I  should  have  liked  to  stay 
with  you,  but,  of  course,  if  you  don't  want  me  now, 
I  shall  come  again  by-and-by." 

"Not  too  soon,  please;  I  must  have  a  little  time," 
I  pleaded.  "If — if  anyone  asks  for  me,  I  have  a  head- 
ache." 

"Trust  me  for  that,  my  poor  one;  I  know  how 
to  manage  these  affairs.  Inquiries  will  come,  without 
doubt,  from  a  certain  person  by  whose  desire  I  really 
made  an  excuse  to  run  up  and  find  you.  I  said  I 
would  look  for  a  book  I'd  brought  to  Southwood  with 
me,  a  book  we'd  luckily  been  talking  about  downstairs. 
They  will  think  I  have  been  a  long  time  gone,  but  what 
they  think  doesn't  matter." 

"No;  what  they  think  doesn't  matter,"  I  repeated 
drearily. 

"I'll  go  now,  then,  since  you  send  me  away. 
Won't  you  give  me  some  little  message  for  poor 
George?" 


224  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

Poor  George!  What  of  poor  Consuelo?  I  bitterly 
thought. 

"I  can't  say  anything,"  I  sharply  uttered  aloud. 

*'Oh,  well,  I  can  make  up  something  that  must  do 
Instead." 

My  lips  opened  to  beg  that  she  would  do  no  such 
thing,  but  they  closed  coldly  together  again.  What  did 
it  signify  what  she  said  in  this  brief  interval?  he  would 
know  the  truth  soon  enough. 

''In  an  hour  or  so  I  shall  peep  In  at  you  again," 
purred  Lady  Sophie.  "Then  I  hope  you  will  look  at 
me  with  a  smile  on  your  poor  little  face.  Good-bye, 
dear.    Is  it  in  your  heart  to  give  me  a  kiss?" 

For  an  Instant  I  hesitated.  But  It  was  only  for  an 
Instant.  At  the  end,  I  lifted  my  tear-stained  face,  and 
we  kissed  each  other  on  the  lips.  Mine  quivered 
under  the  touch  of  hers,  and  the  tears  fell  once  more. 

I  had  loved  her  well.  I  had  been  so  happy  only  an 
hour  ago. 

**Good-bye,"  I  said  softly. 

'*Good-bye  is  a  sad  word.  Au  revoir — let  it  be  au 
revolr." 

"I  like  good-bye  so  much  better,"  I  insisted.  "Good- 
bye, dear  Lady  Sophie.    Good-bye." 

In  another  moment  the  door  had  gently  closed  after 
her  sweeping  satins,  and  I  was  left  alone. 

My  mind  was  already  made  up  as  to  my  next  act, 
w^hlch  was  to  close  the  last  chapter  in  my  brief  love- 
stor>\  What  I  had  to  do  must  be  done  quickly,  for 
I  could  not  count  upon  more  than  one  undisturbed 
hour.    I  had  told  Lady  Sophie  that  I  wished  to  think; 


THE  ORDEAL  BY  FIRE  225 

but  thought  must  beyond  all  else  be  avoided — until  the 
afterward. 

If  I  sat  still  and  let  myself  weep  over  the  pictures 
of  the  past  which  w^ould  move  before  me  in  a  pano- 
rama— George  Seaforth's  face  and  figure  alw^ays  in 
the  foreground — such  little  strength  and  courage  as 
were  left  to  me  would  go. 

No  sooner  had  the  door  shut  behind  Lady  Sophie 
than  I  sprang  up  and  began  unfastening  my  dress. 

"His  money  paid  for  it!"  I  reminded  myself,  w^ith  a 
sick  shiver.  "I  am  the  doll  which  it  has  amused  him 
to  see  tricked  out  in  the  latest  fashion.  His  doll  was 
to  be  the  smartest  in  the  show  of  dolls,  or  he  would 
not  be  satisfied.  Oh,  my  God!  I  thought  him  so 
honourable,  so  chivalrous!" 

But  I  was  thinking  again,  and  I  must  not  think.  I 
tried  desperately  to  fix  my  attention  on  the  business  of 
the  moment.  What  would  I  not  have  given  if  the 
despised  and  long-discarded  Peckham  garments  had 
been  in  my  box,  under  all  the  finery  brought  to  South- 
wood  Park?  But  they  lay  at  the  bottom  of  a  drawer 
at  home — no,  I  mustn't  call  it  home  any  more! — at 
Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton's  house.  The  best  I  could 
do  was  to  dress  myself  from  head  to  foot  in  the  plain- 
est things  I  had  at  hand — the  things,  I  bitterly  re- 
flected, which  had  cost  Sir  George  Seaforth  the  smallest 
amount  of  money. 

Some  day,  perhaps,  I  could  repay  him.  My  heart 
beat  with  a  fierce  agony  of  joy  as  I  saw  myself  in 
the  future  writing  a  cheque  for  money  I  had  earned. 
It  would  have  to  be  a  large  cheque.     I  should  send 


3  26  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

from  some  far-off  place,  the  farther  away  the  better; 
and  I  should  add  a  line,  saying,  "This  is,  as  nearly 
as  I  can  calculate,  the  sum  to  which  I  am  indebted  to 
you  for  board,  clothing,  and  incidental  expenses  during 
the  season  I  spent  in  Park  Lane."  That  would  be 
enough. 

If  he  had  any  heart,  any  manliness  left,  this  would 
cut  him  to  the  quick.  But  till  then  the  fact  that  I 
must  leave  his  house  dressed  in  the  garments  paid  for 
by  him  would  remain  a  part  of  my  humiliation. 

I  roused  myself  with  a  start.  Once  more  I  had 
indulged  in  the  forbidden  luxury  of  thought.  In  a 
few  minutes  I  was  clad  in  travelling  dress,  the  neat 
little  frock  which  I  had  hopefully  put  on  that  afternoon 
for  the  short  journey. 

Then,  with  a  shock,  I  realized  the  difficulty  regard- 
ing money.  In  my  hurried  preparations  I  had  not 
fully  looked  that  question  in  the  face.  My  purse  (what 
a  mockery  to  call  it  mine!)  was  still  in  the  pocket  of 
the  gray  mohair  gown.  I  remembered,  with  curling, 
quivering  lip,  that  it  held  nearly  ten  pounds.  I  could 
go  a  long  distance  with  ten  pounds;  I  had  not  yet 
quite  forgotten  how  to  be  economical.  But  I  could 
not  take  that  money;  I  could  not  touch  a  penny  of  it, 
knowing  whence  it  came. 

I  had  kissed  Lady  Sophie  when  she  had  given  it 
to  me,  as  I  always  did,  with  a  passionate  impulse  of 
gratitude,  which  must  manifest  itself  with  each  new 
kindness.  No  wonder  she  had  blushed  and  looked 
uncomfortable  sometimes,  saying  that  she  "wished  I 
would  not  thank  her." 


THE  ORDEAL  BY  FIRE  227 

There  were  so  many  things  I  understood  now,  and, 
and,  understanding,  felt  that  the  world  was  a  cold  and 
cruel  place — a  place  for  hypocrites,  for  pitfalls  under 
the  roses,  for  grinning  skulls  where  once  I  had  seen 
faces  beautiful  in  benevolence.  I  marvelled  that  I  did 
not  feel  greater  bitterness  against  Lady  Sophie  for  her 
part  in  my  tragedy.  But  I  told  myself,  sadly,  that  I 
could  forgive  her,  because  I  had  not  to  tear  her  image 
from  my  heart,  leaving  wounds  that  must  bleed  for 
ever.  There  were  other  roots  that  had  gone  deeper, 
and  they — but  I  turned  my  mind  back  to  the  crude 
question  of  money. 

There  was  my  little  store  of  jewelery  in  the  morocco 
case,  and  the  string  of  pearls  also,  which  I  had  flung 
down  on  the  dressing-table,  after  wearing  it  to-night. 
But  these  things  had  come  from  Sir  George,  though 
they  had  posed  as  presents  from  Lady  Sophie.  I  saw 
now  that  my  suspicions  should  have  been  roused  long 
ago  by  such  gifts  from  a  woman  who  never  ceased  to 
bemoan  her  poverty.  I  could  not  make  use  of  the 
jewels,  but  thankfully  I  remembered  certain  other  pos- 
sessions, comparatively  insignificant,  yet  enough,  per- 
haps, for  the  present  emergency.  And  afterwards 
might  come  the  deluge,  for  all  I  cared. 

Once  I  had  admired  an  old-fashioned  ring,  con- 
taining a  sapphire  and  a  few  small  diamonds,  which 
Lady  Sophie  sometimes  wore.  Next  day  she  had  in- 
sisted on  transferring  it  to  me,  saying  it  was  too  tight. 

There  was  also  a  red  enamelled  watch,  a  brooch  of 
curiously  twisted  gold,  and  a  bangle  with  a  pearl  and 
ruby  butterfly.    These  trifles  had  been  Lady  Sophie's; 


228  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

Sir  George  Seaforth  had  never  owned  part  or  lot  In 
them. 

I  would  have  kept  all,  if  I  could,  In  tribute  to  such 
affection  as  I  could  still  cherish  for  Lady  Sophie.  But 
they  formed  the  only  key  with  which  I  might  unlock 
my  prison  door  and  go  out  to  freedom.  So,  collecting 
the  articles  together,  I  was  ready  to  write  "Finis,"  and 
close  the  book  ended  so  abruptly. 

Only  half  an  hour  had  passed  since  I  had  been 
left  alone.  It  would  be  some  time  yet  before  I  should 
be  missed.  I  could  stop  and  write  a  letter,  if  I  liked 
— a  letter  to  Lady  Sophie,  or  a  few  words  to  George 
Seaforth,  which  might  burn  In  his  recollection  for  many 
a  day  to  come. 

For  a  moment  I  was  tempted,  but  something  seemed 
to  tell  me  that  it  would  be  better  not.  Lady  Sophie 
would  understand.  She  might  tell  her  principal  in 
the  plot  w^hat  she  chose. 

How  to  escape  without  being  seen,  that  was  the 
next  question  upon  which  I  must  strive  to  concentrate 
my  aching  brain.  I  did  not  know  my  \v2Ly  about  the 
house;  once  outside  my  room,  at  any  moment  I  must 
stand  the  chance  of  meeting  someone  who  would  won- 
der at  seeing  me,  lately  clad  in  rosy  tulle  ("the  colour 
of  love,"  Lady  Sophie  had  called  it),  now  in  travelling 
clothes. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

''then  you'll  remember  me" 

There  was  no  advantage  to  be  gained  by  hesita- 
tion, and  after  the  first  agitated  pause  on  my  own 
threshold,  I  closed  the  door  and  walked  with  apparent 
boldness  along  the  corridor. 

Presently  came  a  turn.  I  let  it  lead  me,  and  found 
a  stairway  which  I  had  not  seen  before.  Hurrying 
down,  I  saw  a  door  that  opened  into  dimness.  Foot- 
steps were  coming,  voices  speaking  together.  I  thought 
I  recognised  Adele's. 

Quickly  I  darted  into  the  room  opposite,  noticing 
only  one  feature — a  long  window  open  to  the  floor.  It 
invited  me,  and  I  stepped  out.  The  worst  was  over 
now. 

The  leisured  moon  of  late  July  had  not  yet  risen, 
but  a  silver  haze  on  the  low-lying  mass  of  eastern 
clouds  heralded  a  coming  event,  and  stars  hung  thickly 
in  a  net  of  tree  branches.  I  could  see  flower-beds  that 
made  the  night  sweet  with  fragrance  of  mignonette. 
I  could  see  shrubbery,  and  tall,  black  trees,  with  arms 
outstretched  against  the  silvery  blue,  and  I  divined 
the  vague  whiteness  of  a  winding  path. 

Behind  me  rose  the  long,  irregular  outline  of  the 
house,  its  windows  flashing  light.  The  rippling  notes 
22g 


230  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

of  a  piano  floated  out  to  me.  I  recognised  Lady 
Forth's  clear  soprano  voice,  and  imagined  a  tall  man, 
with  a  serious,  sun-burned  face,  turning  the  leaves  of 
her  music. 

A  sharp,  almost  intolerable  pang  smote  me.  It  was 
my  favourite  song,  "Then  You'll  Remember  Me,"  that 
old-fashioned,  ever  new-fashioned  appeal  that  Sir 
George  Seaforth  had  liked  to  hear  me  sing.     'When 

other  hearts "  I  put  my  fingers  in  my  ears,  and 

ran  from  the  following  words  in  the  direction  which  I 
trusted  would  take  me  to  the  gates. 

Lady  Forth's  voice  died  away.  With  it  seemed  to 
break  the  last  remaining  thread  which  bound  me  to 
the  past.  Presently  I  came  to  a  lodge,  not  the  one 
which  we  had  seen  as  we  drove  in  earlier  in  the  day. 
The  large  gates  were  locked,  but  there  was  a  little 
one  for  foot-passengers  at  the  side,  and  it  was  only 
latched.  A  few  seconds  more  and  I  was  out  in  the 
road. 

I  began  now  to  dwell  upon  the  thought  that  "they" 
— I  worded  it  no  more  definitely  than  that — would 
perhaps  try  to  trace  me,  and  bring  me  back  to  the  life 
I  was  leaving. 

It  would  be  ignominious  to  be  found.  All  the 
wretchedness  would  have  to  come  over  again,  for  I 
should  never  consent  to  do  that  which  I  might  be 
asked  to  do. 

Lady  Sophie  would  look  at  my  dresses  left  behind, 
and  would  at  once  be  able  to  inform  herself  which  one 
I  had  worn  in  going  away,  for  she  knew  my  ward- 
robe well.   Maybe  I  should  then  be  described,  with  the 


•THEN  YOU'LL  REMEMBER  ME"    231 

Clothes  in  which  I  had  disappeared,  to  the  local  police, 
and  a  reward  would  be  offered  for  discovering  my 
whereabouts.  That  reward  should  never  be  earned 
if  I  could  prevent  it! 

*'They"  would  begin  the  search  at  the  railway-sta- 
tion, no  doubt,  and  my  first  thought  must  be  to  thwart 
them  there.  I  would  walk  all  night,  I  said  to  myself, 
and  perhaps  in  the  early  morning  I  might  find  some 
cottager  who,  bribed  to  keep  my  secret,  would  give  me 
shelter. 

I  could  tell  the  east  by  the  pearly  moon-glimmer 
spreading  behind  the  trees,  and  I  chose  the  direction 
which  led  away  from  the  station.  The  road  I  took 
would  not  matter  so  much,  I  decided,  as  the  avoidance 
of  observation. 

When  I  had  walked  for  more  than  an  hour  I  was 
able  to  see,  by  aid  of  the  moonlight,  the  black  hands 
on  the  white  face  of  my  little  enamelled  watch.  I 
would  part  w  ith  it  only  after  all  the  other  things  were 
gone,  I  told  myself.  The  watch  indicated  n^idnight, 
but  I  was  not  afraid. 

Once  I  passed  a  sheet  of  water,  lying  under  dark 
trees,  with  the  sheen  of  the  moon  across  it. 

"What  if  I  ended  it  all  here — now?"  I  whispered 
in  awe,  that  was  partly  longing,  partly  pain. 

Youth  was  still  hot  in  my  blood,  unsubdued  by 
shame  and  sorrow;  and  the  thought  of  death  was  like 
a  sudden  thrust  forward,  a  look  down  over  a  black 
abyss.  Yet  there  was  temptation,  too.  The  struggle 
would  be  so  soon  over,  and  then,  when  they  found  me, 
if  they  ever  did,  they  would  be  sorry.     George  Sea- 


232  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

forth  would  realize  to  the  full  what  he  had  done,  and 
his  punishment  would  be  bitter. 

But,  after  all,  it  was  a  weak  and  obvious  thing  to 
court  death  as  the  ending  to  such  a  tragic  drama  as 
mine.  How  much  stronger  to  fight  down  the  shame, 
and  live  to  work,  that  the  man  who  had  played  with 
my  heart  might  be  paid  back  every  penny  spent  on  his 
experiment ! 

That  was  something  to  look  forward  to,  to  make 
the  thought  of  the  future  endurable,  though  happiness 
were  past.  I  turned  my  eyes  away  from  the  glittering 
sheet  of  steel,  and  passed  on. 

At  last  I  was  very  tired.  My  shoes  were  thin,  and 
my  feet  began  to  ache — not  that  it  mattered.  The 
moon  was  still  in  the  sky,  but  livid  with  the  early 
dawn;  its  great  yellow  face  faded  white  as  the  sun 
looked  on  it.  In  another  mood  I  might  have  thought: 
the  world  beautiful  in  its  first  awakening;  but  I  had 
only  a  vague  impression  of  trees  and  meadows — alwaj^s 
trees  and  meadows,  and  hills  in  the  distance.  I  wished 
I  could  spy  smoke  curling  from  the  chimney  of  a 
cottage ;  but  no  human  habitation  was  in  sight. 

By-and-by,  as  I  walked  on,  slowly  and  more  slowly 
now,  something  stirred  in  the  distance.  A  couple  of 
gipsy  vans  were  moving  up  from  a  slight  hollow,  on 
a  wide  sea  of  heathery  common  that  found  its  limita- 
tations  at  a  white  beach  of  road. 

I  waited ;  here  was  a  chance  for  me.  A  prudent  cot- 
tage housewife  might  be  shocked  at  the  sudden  appari- 
tion of  a  well-dressed  young  woman  demanding  food, 
shelter,  a  change  of  clothing,  with  promise  of  secrecy-^ 


''THEN  YOU'LL  REMEMBER  ME"     233 

and  oiiering  jewelery  as  a  reward  for  all.  But  to  the 
lawless  mind  of  a  gipsy  my  request  might  come  with 
irresistible  appeal. 

Besides,  gipsies  would  not  remain  stationary,  but 
would  be  alw^ays  moving  on,  going  farther  away  from 
the  place  w^hich  had  been  my  point  of  departure.  They 
would  be  less  likely  than  neighbouring  cottagers  to  see 
anything  which  might  find  its  way  into  the  papers, 
or  be  discovered  and  catechized  by  the  police. 

An  ugly,  brown-faced  young  man  and  a  handsome 
girl  walked  beside  the  first  caravan.  I  stopped  them, 
and  made  up  a  plausible-sounding  story  about  having 
run  away  from  my  guardian,  who  wished  to  force  me 
into  abandoning  a  career  on  the  stage.  I  did  not  want 
to  be  seen  by  anyone.  Would  they  let  me  ride  inside 
their  caravan  ? 

I  had  no  money,  but  I  would  gladly  give  them  this 
(holding  out  the  gold  twisted  brooch)  ;  and  if  the 
5'oung  woman  were  willing  to  spare  me  a  hat  and 
dress,  I  should  be  delighted  to  leave  her  mine  in  their 
place;  only  she  must  promise  to  keep  faith  with  me, 
and  mention  the  circumstances  of  our  meeting  to  no 
one. 

The  girl  agreed  to  both  my  proposals,  with  the  en- 
thusiastic concurrence  of  her  companion.  I  could  trust 
the  word  of  the  Romany,  she  said;  and  I  did  my  best 
to  believe  her. 

I  was  supplied  with  food  inside  the  caravan,  and, 
despite  the  weight  of  misery,  I  ate,  hating  myself  be- 
cause that  senseless  engine,  my  body,  demanded  stoking 
with  black  bread  and  greasy  tea. 


234  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

I  slept,  too,  though  I  would  have  denied  the  pos- 
sibility of  sleep  had  anyone  suggested  it.  Noon  had 
passed  when  I  woke,  greatly  wondering  for  a  moment 
of  bewilderment  at  my  strange  surroundings. 

After  all,  we  had  not  gone  as  far  as  I  had  hoped, 
for  gipsy  caravans  travel  but  slowly.  We  were  near 
a  village,  however,  and  my  dark  young  hostess  con- 
sented to  buy  me  a  thick  veil  of  blue  or  green  gauze. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  the  exchange  of  clothing  was 
effected.  I  clad  myself  in  a  bright  Scotch  plaid,  which 
had  been  the  Romany  girl's  holiday  frock.  There  was 
also  a  sunburnt  hat,  with  a  yellow  ribbon  tied  round  it, 
seldom  worn  on  the  blue-black  hair,  which  rebelled 
against  constraint;  and  the  veil  recently  procured  ef- 
fectually completed  the  disguise. 

I  do  not  think  when  I  stepped  out  of  the  caravan 
that  my  best  friend  (if  I  had  a  friend)  or  my  worst 
enemy  (easy  to  designate)  would  have  said,  "There  is 
Consuelo  Brand." 

My  escort  left  me  within  half  a  mile  of  a  railway 
station.    The  nearest  town  was  called  Chansey. 

I  had  been  informed  on  inquiry  that  Chansey  was 
upon  the  London  and  South-Western  line.  I  was  glad 
of  anything,  for  my  brain  had  not  been  idle  during 
my  waking  hours,  and  I  had  decided  to  make  use  of 
a  kindly  offer  which  had  once  been  made. 

Selfishly,  during  the  full  weeks  that  had  passed  to 
the  strains  of  rich  m.usic,  I  had  more  than  half  forgot- 
ten plain  Miss  Smith  and  her  eccentric  goodness  to 
me.  But  Vvnth  equal  selfishness — the  selfishness  that  is 
an  integral  part  of  human  nature,  alas! — I   remem- 


"THEN  YOU'LL  REMEMBER  ME"     235 

bered  now  that  it  seemed  advantageous  to  re- 
member. 

Miss  Smith  had  announced  that  she  had  "taken  a 
fancy"  to  me.  She  said  that  if  ever  I  needed  a  friend 
I  was  to  write  or  go  to  her.  I  had  for  a  time  pre- 
served the  card  which  she  had  given  me  that  day,  and 
though  the  highly-glazed  bit  of  pasteboard  had  now 
either  been  lost  or  was  lying  in  some  unregarded  nook 
in  my  room  at  Park  Lane,  the  address  had  been  so 
simple  that  I  was  able,  after  a  little  effort,  to  recall 
it,  "Miss  Jane  Smith,  The  Pines,  Lull,  Dorsetshire." 

The  time  had  come  when,  as  the  elderly  spinster 
had  grimly  prognosticated,  my  brilliant  bubble  had 
burst,  and  of  all  things  I  needed  a  friend. 

It  might  be,  as  I  imagined  Miss  Smith  to  be  a 
person  of  some  influence  in  her  own  section  of  the 
country,  that  she  could  and  would  help  me  along  the 
steep  road  towards  writing  that  five  or  six  hundred 
pound  cheque — now  the  flitting  light  which  led  me 
through  the  darkness  and  the  marsh. 

I  was  going  to-day  to  Miss  Smith  at  the  Pines,  in 
the  Dorsetshire  village  of  Lull. 

My  ring,  sold  by  a  happy  thought  to  the  gipsies  at 
the  last  moment,  had  brought  me  five  pounds.  No 
doubt  they  would  obtain  almost  twice  that  sum  if 
they  chose  to  part  with  it  later;  but  with  my  eccentric 
costume  and  lack  of  self-confidence,  I  should  have  had 
difficulty  in  getting  rid  of  the  jewel  in  exchange  for  a 
railway-ticket. 

It  would  have  turned  tragedy  into  pathos  if  I  had 
been  arrested  on  a  charge  of  attempting  to  dispose  of 


236  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

stolen  property,  and  I  should  have  been  at  a  loss  to 
defend  myself. 

I  bought  a  third-class  ticket,  and  set  forth  on  my 
journey  to  Lull.  So  far  I  felt  certain  that  I  had  con- 
trived to  cover  my  track  with  skill.  Lady  Sophie 
w^ould  never  find  m.e  now.  She  would  send  to  Peck- 
ham  if  she  cared  to  bring  me  back,  I  reflected ;  and 
she  would  learn  nothing  there. 

Suddenly,  with  the  thought  of  Cousin  Sarah  East, 
and  Jimmy,  and  the  others  at  Happiholme  Villa,  came 
a  darting  prick  of  recollection.  The  escritoire !  I  had 
left  It  unsearched,  the  drawers  scattered  on  the  floor. 
What  Diana  had  had  to  tell  had  banished  from  miy 
mind  all  remembrance  of  the  errand  which  had  origin- 
ally taken  me  upstairs. 

Anyone  who  knew  of  the  secret  drawer  and  the 
papers  could  have  entered,  the  moment  I  left,  and 
robbed  me  of  that  which  m.ight  in  happier  circum- 
stances have  been  of  infinite  value.  Perhaps  Diana 
had  not  gone,  after  all,  but  had  waited,  hidden,  to 
watch  me  and  see  what  I  did.  She  had  expected  me 
to  run  away,  therefore  she  might  well  have  laid  her 
plans  beforehand,  counting  on  my  departure. 

For  the  first  tim.e  since  last  night  my  thoughts  turned 
from  present  misery  to  a  subject  unconnected  with  it. 
I  desperately  resented  the  idea  of  Diana  Dunbar  profit- 
ing by  my  humiliation,  my  absence;  and  my  pulses 
leaped  with  the  recollection  of  my  own  words:  "I 
have  found  the  drawer,  and  taken  away  the  papers," 
I  had  falsely  told  her,  moved  by  the  impulse  which  had 
goaded  me  to  speak. 


"THEN  YOU'LL  REMEMBER  ME"     237 

She  had  believed;  and  there  was  hope  that  hence- 
forth the  desk  might  appear  valueless  to  her  and 
those  into  whose  hands  she  had  played.  I  was  glad 
of  this,  not  only  for  the  triumph  of  thwarting  my 
enemy,  but  because,  if  I  could  ever  find  out  what  the 
desk  had  contained,  there  might  be  a  legacy  coming  to 
me,  which  would  materially  help  with  the  cheque. 

What  would  become  of  the  escritoire,  now  that  I 
was  gone?  I  anxiously  asked  myself.  Would  Sir 
George  keep  it?  would  he  give  it  to  Lady  Sophie?  I 
wished  that  I  could  guess,  and,  in  my  new  excitement, 
for  one  mom.ent  I  was  able  to  forget  what  a  blank 
the  world  had  become. 

Whatever  happened  to  the  desk,  I  almost  dared 
to  hope  that  it  would  be  safe  from  the  machinations 
of  the  Dunbar  faction.  They  believed  I  had  the 
papers.  Why,  then,  in  future  I  should  be  the  object 
of  their  pursuit! 

This  was  a  startling  alternative,  for  it  suggested  the 
fear  now  that  I  might  have  been  followed.  I  had  not 
thought  until  now  of  the  danger  that  I  might  be 
tracked  by  others  than  my  quondam  friends. 

If  Diana  had  stayed  to  spy!  I  recalled  a  rustling 
among  the  shrubbery  at  Southwood  Park  as  I  had 
passed.  I  had  been  frightened  at  the  moment,  but  had 
reassured  myself  later  with  the  reflection  that  some 
small  wild  creature  of  the  night  had  been  lurking 
there. 

It  was  morbid  to  fancy  now  that  it  could  have  been 
anything  more  formidable,  I  decided.  I  had  safely 
eluded  friends  and  enemies  alike. 


238  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

From  Chansey,  in  Surrey,  to  Lull,  in  Dorsetshire,  is 
a  long  journey;  and  there  was  a  change  of  trains.  I 
had  started  soon  after  four,  and  it  was  nine  when  a 
porter  at  Lull  directed  me  to  Miss  Smith's  place.  The 
Pines  was  a  house  of  some  importance  in  his  eyes  at 
least,  it  seemed,  for  he  spoke  of  it  and  its  mistress  with 
respect. 

I  should  have  a  walk  of  nearly  two  miles  beyond 
the  village,  I  was  informed,  and  the  porter  had  a  fancy 
that  Miss  Smith  was  not  at  home.  Perhaps  that  would 
not  matter  to  me,  however.  Probably  he  supposed  me 
to  be  a  new  servant  maid,  with  a  queer  taste  in  dress, 
arriving  to  take  a  situation. 

My  heart  sank  with  an  additional  weight.  Miss 
Smith's  problematical  absence  did  matter  considerably 
to  me.  Late  as  it  was,  I  had  doubted  whether  to  dare 
present  myself  at  The  Pines  that  night,  and  now  I 
was  sure  that  I  must  wait  till  morning.  I  thanked 
the  porter  for  his  information,  pressed  a  few  coppers 
into  his  not  reluctant  palm,  and — failed  to  satisfy  his 
curiosity. 

Without  telling  him  whether  or  no  I  regretted  the 
doubt  that  shrouded  Miss  Smith's  movements,  I  walked 
away,  and  presently  coming  to  an  unpretentious  inn,  I 
requested  shelter  for  the  night. 

In  the  pocket  of  the  gipsy's  frock,  tied  up  in  a 
handkerchief,  there  remained  several  pounds  and  nu- 
merous shillings,  over  and  above  the  price  of  my  jour- 
ney, from  the  proceeds  of  the  ring.  I  produced  from 
this  store  as  much  as  would  pay  for  a  room  at  the  inn, 
and  was  somewhat  unwillingly  received  as  a  lodger. 


"THEN  yOUXL  REMEMBER  ME*'    s" 

My  bed  was  hard,  and  the  thoughts  that  disturbeCi 
my  rest  were  harder,  so  that  I  could  do  nothing  hnt 
toss  and  moan  through  the  dark,  ^-ndless  hours  of  th© 
night.  I  was  up  betimes,  physically  refreshed  by  break- 
fast,  and  on  my  way  to  The  Pines. 

If  Miss  Smith  had  been  out  last  evening,  she  wa-? 
the  sort  of  woman  to  return  home  early,  I  argued, 
so  that  I  might  hope  she  would  not  be  late  in  sleep- 
ing off  her  fatigue  to-day.  She  would  be  surprised  to 
see  me,  still  more  surprised  at  my  conception  of  a 
travelling  costume,  but  my  explanations  would  soon 
soften  the  shock  produced  by  the  red  and  yellow  plaid. 

The  Pines  was  a  finer  place  than  I  had  been  led 
to  expect  from  Miss  Smith's  description,  but  I  remem- 
bered that  she  had  frankly  advertised  herself  as  a  rich 
woman,  considered  by  her  sister-in-law  eminently 
worth  conciliation. 

A  few  months  ago,  before  grand  houses  had  lost 
their  awe-inspiring  quality  for  me,  I  should  have  been 
exceedingly  impressed  by  Miss  Smith's  residence  as 
I  walked  up  the  drive  to  attack  knocker  and  bell. 

A  woman  in  neat  cap  and  apron  opened  the  door, 
staring  at  the  unique  apparition  in  undisguised  amaze- 
ment, tinged  with  disapproval. 

"Is  Miss  Smith  at  home  ?"  I  inquired,  with  such  dig- 
nity as  a  vain  Vvoman  who  knows  herself  at  a  disad- 
vantage can  command.  My  vanity  was  in  dust  and 
ashes  now;  still,  self-consciousness  enough  was  left  to 
make  me  writhe  a  little  under  the  spinster's  servant's 
glare. 

"No,   Miss   Smith  is  not  at  home,"  she  promptly 


240  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

answered.  "And  let  me  tell  you,  my  young  woman, 
you  might  have  spared  me  trouble  by  coming  to  the 
back-door." 

Crushed,  I  nevertheless  persisted. 

"I  am  a  friend  of  Miss  Smith's,"  I  said  mildly.  '1 
am  very  sorry  she  is  out.     But " 

"She  is  not  only  out.  She  is  away,"  corrected  my 
informant. 

"Oh!"  I  could  scarcely  repress  a  little  gasp  of  con- 
sternation, for  I  had  staked  my  all  on  finding  Miss 
Smith  ready  to  carry  out  her  offer.  "Will  she  be 
away  long?" 

"'She  may  be  back  to-morrow;  she  may  not  be  back 
for  a  week." 

"Is  she  still  in  London — ^with  Mrs.  Leatherby- 
Smith?"  I  asked,  anxious  to  win  confidence  by  show- 
ing my  knowledge  of  the  family  connections. 

It  had  not  previously  occurred  to  me  that  she  might 
be  lingering  in  town,  for  Miss  Smith  had  impressed 
me  as  a  woman  who  knew  her  own  mind,  and  she  had 
told  me  that  her  visit  to  her  sister-in-law  was  to  be 
a  short  one.     Still,  it  was  possible 

"No;  she's  not  in  London,"  returned  the  maid,  shut- 
ting her  mouth  over  an  iron  resolution  not  to  betray 
her  mistress  to  a  creature  in  a  red  plaid,  and  a  hat  with 
a  soiled  yellow  band.  "I  can't  tell  you  where  she  is, 
any  more  than  I  can  tell  you  when  she's  coming  back." 

Evidently  my  bids  to  inspire  confidence  had  not  suc- 
ceeded. I  was  regarded  as  a  brazen  fraud,  who  had 
picked  up  a  few  bits  of  family  historj^  and  patched  them 
together  for  my  own  doubtful  purposes. 


"THEN  YOU'LL  REMEMBER  ME"     241 

The  woman  ostentatiously  took  a  step  back  from  the 
door,  which  moved  an  inch  or  two  towards  shutting. 
This  to  the  beautiful  Miss  Brand,  who  had  been  wel- 
come a  few  days  ago  in  what  the  society  papers  call 
the  "best  houses  in  England!" 

How  was  my  greatness  fallen!  and  what  a  feather- 
w^ght,  what  a  nothing-masquerading-as-something,  it 
had  been  at  best!  Still,  my  poor  little  past  vanities 
appeared  pitifully  pathetic  to  me  now,  rather  than 
darkly  sinful,  as  perhaps  they  ought  to  have  seemed. 

I  had  no  more  questions  to  ask.  Murmuring  inar- 
ticulately, I  bowed  my  head  to  the  inevitable  and 
walked  away.  The  door  closed  upon  the  respectable 
comfort  of  Miss  Smith's  home,  and  the  waif  in  the  red 
plaid  atrocity  knew  not  where  she  was  to  go. 

After  I  had  passed  through  the  gates  which  had 
proved  inhospitable  to  me,  I  walked  on  aimlessly  for 
a  long  time,  hardly  conscious,  save  for  a  vague  addi- 
tional sense  of  wretchedness,  that  a  drizzle  of  rain  was 
falling. 

At  first  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  what  to 
do,  since  the  straw  I  had  caught  at  to  save  me  from 
drowning  had  been  snatched  from  my  grasp.  I  was 
afraid  to  go  back  to  London  and  apply  to  an  agency 
for  a  situation,  as  I  had  once  planned  to  do,  in  case 
I  should  ever  be  driven  out  of  fairyland.  I  had  not 
had  a  prophetic  soul  in  those  seemingly  remote  days, 
for  I  had  never  dreamed  of  the  way  in  which  my 
decree  of  banishment  would  fall. 

At  worst  I  had  pictured  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton 
capriciously  tiring  of  her  guest,  and  intimating  gently 


24B  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

that  It  was  time  for  flitting.  If  this  had  happened,  I 
should  have  thanked  her,  and  obediently  disappeared 
into  the  Ewigkeit,  But  now  It  appeared  to  my  sore 
self-consciousness  that  there  could  be  no  peaceful  twi- 
light of  obscurity  for  me.  Every  eye  turned  carelessly 
upon  my  face  would  remain  fixed  in  recognition  of 
the  battered  celebrity  fallen  off  Its  pedestal. 

liady  Sophie  would  find  me  out;  she  would  hear 
of  me.  I  dared  not  go  so  near  her  world  as  Lon- 
don. I  did  not  want  to  do  the  cowardly  thing  I  had 
thought  of  last  night.    What  was  to  become  of  me? 


CHAPTER   XXIII 


"She  may  be  back  to-morrow ;  she  may  not  be  back 
for  a  week." 

The  words  of  Miss  Smith's  servant  rang  again  in 
my  mind,  and  a  ray  of  hope  gleamed  out  to  me  with 
the  sudden  thought  that  I  might  stay  and  wait  for  her. 

I  had  money  left  which  would  keep  me  for  some 
time  if  I  found  cheap  lodgings,  and  that  should  not 
be  difficult  in  this  country.  The  boom  of  the  sea 
came  on  the  wind  when  one's  heart  was  stilled  to  listen, 
and  there  must  be  fishermen's  cottages  not  far  away. 

I  would  write  to  Miss  Smith,  hoping  that  my  let- 
ter might  be  forwarded  from  The  Pines.  I  would 
write  also  to  Anne,  who  could  be  trusted  to  keep  my 
secret,  asking  her  what  news  of  the  spinster  had  lately 
come  to  Holland  Park  House. 

This  new  idea  gave  me  something  to  do,  something 
to  keep  the  thoughts  that  must  not  be  harboured  out 
of  my  brain.  I  walked  with  increased  briskness  to 
the  village,  and  purchased  at  one  of  the  shops  several 
necessary  articles,  to  supply  my  suspicious  lack  of  lug- 
gage. I  also  bought  a  dark  sailor  hat,  and  material 
for  the  creation  of  a  decent  black  frock,  actually  ex- 
periencing dim  stirrings  of  pleasure  in  the  anticipation 
243 


244  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

of  renewing  remembered  makeshifts  in  sempstressing. 
Armed  with  my  acquisitions,  their  newness  concealed 
in  the  depths  of  a  cheap  travelling-bag,  I  found  the 
colony  of  fishermen  I  had  hoped  for — a  little  cluster 
of  picturesque  antiquity  half  a  mile  inland  from  crowd- 
ing black  rocks  that  rose  above  the  white  foam  of 
the  sea. 

Lodgings  were  advertised  in  more  than  one  small 
peephole  window,  and  I  chose  to  knock  at  the  door 
of  a  dwelling  with  a  gay  strip  of  flower-garden  in 
front.  I  had  guessed  that  the  housewife  there  would 
be  clean  and  capable,  but  my  weary  Imagination  had 
not  conjured  up  anything  so  wholesome,  so  motherly 
and  sweet  as  the  reality. 

She  gazed  with  kindness  upon  my  tired,  unveiled 
face;  but  even  w^ith  her  the  red  plaid  was  against  me, 
and  the  price  she  named  for  her  rooms  was  not  as 
cheap  as  I  had  expected. 

"Vm  afraid  I  must  look  somewhere  else,"  I  said 
wistfully,  hoping  that  she  might  be  moved  to  strike 
off  a  few^  shillings. 

"I'm  sorry,"  the  answer  came,  half  doubtfully;  "but, 
you  see,  we  can  easily  get  what  we  ask,  specially  in 
August,  and  we  often  has  gentry  here." 

I  was  not  "gentr3\"  This  fact  was  so  self-evident 
to  her  that  it  had  not  occurred  to  the  kindly  heart 
that  I  could  be  offended  at  the  implication.  Nor  was 
I  offended,  but  I  wanted  to  stay  with  her;  I  did  not 
want  to  "look  somewhere  else." 

Suddenly  the  sense  of  my  forlornness  overwhelmed 
me  like  a  wave.     The  world  that  was  so  cold  to  me 


"WANTED  IMMEDIATELY"  245 

was  filled  with  a  great  mother-want  that  ached  and 
ached  in  my  heart,  with  the  longing  for  arms  to  fold 
round  me  in  love,  some  bosom  which  would  give  me 
rest. 

Tears  burst  from  my  eyes.  They  did  not  fall  gently, 
one  by  one,  but  came  in  a  storm.  My  face  worked 
with  the  piteous,  childish  contortions  that  will  come 
with  passionate  crying. 

I  stammered  "Good-day,"  and  hurried  off  to  hide 
my  weakness  and  my  woe,  but  the  housewife  ran 
after  me. 

"Why,  you  poor  little  body!  Why,  dearie,  dontee, 
dontee,  now!     And  you  shall  stop!"  she  exclaimed. 

I  think  her  hand  was  on  the  reprehensible  plaid, 
detaining  me,  pulling  me  back  inside  the  low  doorway. 
But  everything  was  blurred  with  tears.  Presently  I 
was  crying  on  her  shoulder.  She  smelled  of  freshly- 
washed  linen  and  newly-baked  bread. 

Over  the  shoulder  I  saw,  through  a  mist,  shelves 
of  blue  and  pictorial  china,  a  tall  clock  with  red  flowers 
painted  round  its  face.  A  dark  patch  of  shadow  indi- 
cated kitchen  range  and  low  mantel,  ornamented  with 
spotted  dogs  and  wonderful  vases. 

A  glitter,  like  jewels,  meant  pewter  and  copper 
things  depending  from  hooks;  and  there  was  a  yellow 
cat  that  purred,  and  regarded  me  with  an  unblinking 
topaz  stare. 

"You  shall  pay  what  you  can,  poor  pretty  dear," 
said  the  kind  creature,  who  was  doing  more  for  me, 
according  to  her  lights,  than  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton 
had  ever  done. 


246  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

Thereupon  she  dried  my  eyes  with  a  clean  coarse 
towel  that  hung  before  the  fire,  petted  me  and  patted 
me,  and  bustled  about  to  get  me  a  glass  of  milk  and 
a  seed  cake.  I  had  always  hated  caraway  seeds  before 
that  day,  but  I  knew  that  in  future  I  should  love  them 
for  this  woman's  sake. 

''You  are  good  to  me,"  I  sobbed;  'I'm  so  lonely; 
Fve  run  away  from  home,  and — and  I  can  never  go 
back." 

"Deary  me,  poor  child !  I  'ope  you  didn't  run  away 
to  marry  a  young  man,  and  he  threw  you  over.  There's 
some  of  'em  like  that." 

"On  the  contrary,  I've  run  away  from  a  young 
man,"  I  explained,  with  a  queer  little  smile  through 
the  tears  that  had  brought  me  relief. 

I  drank  the  milk  and  ate  the  cake,  and  it  was 
arranged  that  I  should  occupy  Mrs.  Nye's  spare  bed- 
room and  the  sitting-room  attached  for  the  modest  sum 
of  six  shillings  a  week. 

I  could  not  tell  her  how  long  I  was  likely  to  stay. 
It  might  be  for  a  week,  it  might  be  indefinitely.  But 
I  mentioned  that  I  was  anxious  to  obtain  work.  Some- 
times situations  were  advertised  in  the  local  newspaper, 
she  cheeringly  informed  me.  Her  husband  took  it  in; 
it  was  published  once  a  week,  and  a  friend  of  theirs 
lent  them  a  London  daily  paper,  too.  I  should  see 
both,  and  who  could  tell  but  I  might  find  exactly  the 
thing  I  wanted?  Meanwhile  she  would  take  the  best 
of  care  of  me,  and  "mother  me  up  a  bit." 

Half  an  hour  later,  in  a  neat  little  sitting-room, 
smelling  of  the  late  roses  on  the  table — with  a  faint, 


"WANTED  IMMEDIATELY"  247 

undertone  of  mustiness — and  deadly  portaits  of  de- 
parted Nyes  staring  down  at  me  from  the  walls,  I 
sat  writing  to  Miss  Smith  and  to  Anne  Bryden. 

I  merely  informed  Miss  Smith  that  I  had  left  Lady 
Sophie  de  Gretton,  and  was  thrown  upon  my  own 
resources.  If,  when  she  came  home,  she  would  re- 
member her  kind  promise  to  befriend  me,  and  help 
me  to  obtain  work  of  any  kind,  I  should  be  most 
grateful.  I  was  to  be  found  waiting  for  her  return 
at  Mrs.  Nye's  cottage,  near  Lull ;  and  Mrs.  Nye  said 
that  everyone  knew  her  Thomas,  the  best  fisherman 
along  the  Dorsetshire  coast. 

To  Anne  I  was  more  confidential.  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  tell  her  all  the  miserable  deta,ils  which 
made  up  the  truth;  but  I  said  that  I  feared  my  new 
friends  had  not  been  quite  sincere  with  me;  that  I 
had  left  Lady  Sophie,  and  requested  that  Anne  would 
tell  nobody  where  I  was.  I  was  very  unhappy,  but 
hoped  to  feel  better  and  less  restless  if  I  could  find 
an  occupation. 

It  would  be  kind  of  her  if  she  would  write  me 
everything  she  knew  regarding  Miss  Smith's  where- 
abouts, for  venturing  to  rely  upon  that  lady's 
promise,  I  was  waiting  in  her  neighbourhood,  in  the 
hope  of  her  speedy  return.  I  also  begged,  in  a  hesi- 
tating postscript,  that  if  any  items  of  news  concerning 
the  movements  of  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton,  the  Dun- 
bars,  or  Sir  George  Seaforth,  reached  Anne's  ears,  she 
would  remember  them  for  my  benefit. 

And  so  still  another  phase  of  life  opened  for  me, 
or  perhaps  It  would  be  better  to  call  it  existence.  From 


248  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

the  whirl  of  a  London  season  to  the  four  walls  of  a 
Dorsetshire  fisherman's  cottage — can  a  more  strongly 
marked  contrast  be  imagined? 

Mrs.  Nye's  kindness  was  the  only  balm  which  Fate 
gave  to  the  wounds  my  spirit  had  suffered.  Yet  it 
was  balm,  and  by  its  means  I  was  saved  from  many 
intolerable  moments.  It  seems  puerile  in  the  telling, 
but  the  making  of  my  black  dress  also  helped  me.  Cut- 
ting it  out  and  sewing  up  the  seams  kept  me  from 
thinking  forbidden  thoughts,  through  hours  that 
otherwise  must  have  been  dark  indeed. 

When  the  frock  was  finished  and  I  had  donned  it 
in  place  of  the  objectionable  plaid,  Mrs.  Nye  gazed 
at  me  in  flattering  contemplation. 

"Why,  dearie,  I  always  knew  you  was  a  beauty,  but 
now  I  can  see  you  are  a  lady,  too,"  she  ejaculated, 
leaving  me  to  be  pleased  or  ol^Eended  as  I  might  elect. 

Three  daj^s  passed  in  a  monotonous  round,  which 
seemed  broken  only  by  the  striking  of  the  tall  clock 
— audible  all  over  the  cottage — and  the  coming  of 
meal-tim.es.  I  heard  nothing  from  Miss  Smith,  but 
on  the  fourth  morning  a  letter  came  from  Anne.  Even 
the  London  postmark  excited  me  and  set  my  heart 
beating. 

The  envelope  was  addressed  to  "Miss  Constance 
Burns,"  as  I  had  requested,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
breaking  the  seal  of  a  communication  addressed  to  a 
stranger. 

"My  dear  Con,"  Anne  began.  She  had  usually 
opened  with  "My  Pet,"  "Dearest  Girlie,"  or  some- 
thing else  pleasantly  caressing,  so  that  now,  when  all 


"WANTED  IMMEDIATELY"  249 

my  heart  cried  out  for  sympathy,  the  three  short  words 
struck  me  as  bald  and  conventional. 

*'I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  are  in  trouble,"  the 
letter  went  on;  "but  I  think  that  you  were  born  lucky, 
and  things  are  bound  to  come  right  for  you  in  the 
end,  so  that  I  don't  feel  as  sorry  for  you  as  I  other- 
wise should.  You  are  wise  to  wait  for  Miss  Smith, 
I  fancy.  She  and  Mrs.  L.-S.  are  not  on  the  best  of 
terms  at  present,  so  that  the  latter  is  not  in  the  secret 
of  her  excursion.  But  Miss  Smith  has  another  estate 
in  Yorkshire,  which  she  lets  by  the  year,  and  I  re- 
member that  the  tenants  are  leaving  about  this  time. 

"The  fussy  old  lady  has  probably  gone  on  there  to 
personally  conduct  the  move,  or  see  that  the  house  is 
in  'apple-pie'  order  for  the  next  incumbents  to  come 
in.  She  is  almost  sure  to  turn  up  at  The  Pines  again 
shortly,  as  she  hates  being  away  from  her  cats  and 
dogs,  and,  above  all,  the  monkey.  I  should  think,  if 
you  played  your  cards  well,  you  might  get  taken  on 
as  a  sort  of  nursery-governess  to  that  monkey.  Let 
me  know  when  you  have  any  more  news. 

"Yours  affectionately, 

"Anne." 

Not  a  word  as  to  my  questions  about  those  I  had 
left.  Such  a  stiff,  cold  little  letter!  I  could  not 
understand  it.  I  did  not  see  what  I  could  have  done 
to  displease  my  old  friend. 

"Look  here,  miss,  what  I've  found  for  you!"  said 
Mrs.  Nye  on  the  fifth  day  of  our  acquaintance. 


250  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

She  brought  in  my  breakfast  of  bread-and-milk,  a 
newspaper  tucked  under  her  arm,  and  when  she  had  set 
down  the  tray  she  eagerly  opened  out  the  pages  of  the 
local  journal. 

"There's  a  splendid  advertisement,"  she  exclaimed, 
finding  the  wished-for  paragraph  with  a  plump,  work- 
worn  finger.  "Just  the  thing  for  you,  and  right  in 
our  neighbourhood,  too." 

She  stood,  breathing  hard,  waiting  with  arms  akimbo 
until  I  could  read  the  few  lines  and  give  my  verdict. 

"WANTED,  immediately,  a  young  lady  to  act  as 
secretary  and  read  aloud  a  few  hours  each  day  to 
an  elderly  gentleman  who  is  blind.  Holiday,  if  re- 
quired, for  two  months  each  year,  but  lady  would  dur- 
ing remainder  of  time  live  in  employer's  house.  Duties 
light.  Salary  large  to  the  right  applicant. — ^Apply  at 
once,  if  possible,  in  person  to  the  residence  of  the  ad- 
vertiser, Arrish  Hall,  Swanage  Road,  Lull." 

"It  must  be  close  to  the  village,"  I  exclaimed. 

"No  miss,  not  quite  close;  that  is  to  say,  it*s  a 
matter  of  two  mile  or  more.  Miss  Smith's  place.  The 
Pines,  is  the  nearest  house,  and  that's  all  but  a  mile 
this  side.  Arrish  Hall  has  been  to  let  furnished  this 
long  time — seven  or  :ight  years.  Folks  used  to  say 
'twas  haunted,  but  that's  all  nonsense,  of  course;  you 
and  me  don't  believe  in  them  things.  Still,  the  house 
does  stand  a  bit  lonely,  that  can't  be  denied.  Not  that 
It  matters  for  a  blind  gentleman.  The  lonelier  the 
better,  he'd  say^  maybe.     He  must  be  lately  come  in; 


"WANTED  IMMEDIATELY"  251 

I  hadn't  heard  the  place  was  let.  'Tis  a  wonder  Tom 
didn't  know,  for  'tisn't  much  slips  past  him  in  the 
way  of  news." 

"It  sounds  attractive,"  I  meditated  aloud.  "But 
there'll  be  so  many  trying  for  the  place  that  it  doesn't 
seem  much  use  for  me  to  apply — a  stranger,  without 
references." 

"The  paper's  only  just  out  this  morning,  miss," 
urged  Mrs.  Nye.  "You'll  have  as  good  a  chance  as 
anyone,  right  on  the  spot  as  you  are;  not  so  many 
can  have  been  before  you.  I  suppose  the  gentleman 
preferred  somebody  living  in  the  neighbourhood,  or 
he  wouldn't  have  put  his  advertisement  in  our  local 
paper  and  nowhere  else  that  I've  seen  as  yet,  any- 
how." 

"Well,  I'll  walk  to  Arrish  Hall  and  try  my  luck,'* 
I  said  dubiously,  "though  I  don't  for  a  moment  think 
I'll  get  the  place." 

"A  pity  the  gentleman  can't  see  you,"  Mrs.  Nye 
regretted.  "But,  then,  there's  your  voice,  miss,  and 
his  ears  seem  to  be  all  right." 

An  hour  later  I  was  on  my  way  along  the  country 
road  which  I  had  been  told  would  lead  me  eventually 
to  Arrish  Hall,  the  lonely  house  about  which  "folks" 
had  talked  so  much  "nonsense."  I  wore  my  neat  new 
dress  of  black  alpaca,  with  white  turnover  collar  and 
cuffs,  and  the  plain  black  sailor  hat  I  had  obtained 
in  the  village,  looking,  I  flattered  myself,  like  the 
respectable  young  nursery-governess  out  of  a  situation 
which,  after  all,  I  actually  was. 

In   this  costume  I  might  hope,   it  seemed   to  me, 


252  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

for  at  least  a  more  favourable  reception  at  the  doer 
than  I  had  experienced  at  Miss  Smith's,  whatever  fate 
lay  in  store  for  me  within. 

I  passed  The  Pines,  and  gazed  wistfully  towards  the 
house,  which  was  just  visible  among  the  trees.  The 
blinds  in  the  front-windows  were  all  at  "half-mast," 
so  to  speak;  no  doubt  the  mistress  was  still  away. 

It  would  be  foolish  to  miss  the  smallest  chance  of 
obtaining  an  engagement  simply  because  I  still  cher- 
ished some  vague  hope  that  Miss  Smith  might  be 
willing  to  redeem  her  promise  when  she  should  return. 
I  should  have  been  glad,  nevertheless,  if  the  adver- 
tisement which  I  was  now  on  my  way  to  answer  need 
not  have  appeared  until  after  I  knew  definitely  what 
I  had  to  expect  from  the  kindly,  eccentric  spinster. 

As  matters  stood,  however,  there  was  nothing  for  me 
to  do  save  what  I  was  doing;  and  doubtless  if  Miss 
Smith  were  at  home  to  advise  she  would  counsel  me  to 
take  the  position  at  Arrish  Hail,  if  I  were  fortunate 
enough  to  get  it.  Besides,  though  It  w^as  most  unlikely 
that  I  would  be  so  fortunate,  I  should  at  worst  have 
the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  I  had  done  my  best — 
that  I  had  "left  no  stone  unturned." 

The  distance  after  passing  The  Pines  began  to  seem 
long.  It  was  all  uphill,  and  the  sun  of  noon  was 
hot  on  my  head.  The  country  was  lonelier  here.  Miss 
Smith's  property  and  the  Arrish  Hall  estate  adjoined, 
so  that  there  were  no  houses  between. 

Miss  Smith's  meadows  were  well  cultivated,  sug- 
gesting English  peace  and  comfort,  but  the  land  be- 
longing to  Arrish  Hall — separated  from  The  Pines  by 


"WANTED  IMMEDIATELY"  253 

^  high  wall  of  ancient,  many-tinted  llchened  bricks — • 
y/SLS  desolate  from  long  neglect.  Oaks  and  pines 
crowded  beeches  and  smaller  trees,  all  untrimmed  and 
Dut  of  order. 

The  dwelling  w^as  invisible  from  the  road;  it  was 
a  house  in  an  enchanted  forest.  Here  the  Sleeping 
Beauty  might  have  lain  for  her  century  of  charmed 
slumber,  I  somewhat  sentimentally  told  myself,  en- 
meshed by  fairy  barriers,  hidden  from  the  world. 

The  fact  that  the  place  had  been  handicapped  by 
a  grim  reputation  w^ould  account  for  its  condition ;  but 
now  that  it  was  tenanted  again,  after  years  of  empti- 
ness, everything  would,  no  doubt,  be  changed.  Even 
chough  the  new  occupant  was  a  blind  man,  he  would 
^ake  a  certain  pride  in  his  possessions,  and  retrieve 
them  from  the  curse  of  desolation. 

I  entered  by  way  of  a  rusty  iron  gate  between  tall 
stone  pillars  bearing  a  half-defaced  coat  of  arms.  The 
drive  was  grass-grown,  and  wound  into  green  distance 
under  a  low-hanging  canopy  of  beeches.  It  must  have 
been  almost  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  I  fancied,  In  finishing 
its  windings  with  abruptness  before  an  old  Elizabethan 
house. 

The  door-bell,  as  I  timidly  pulled  It  startled  me  by 
the  loud  jangling  peal  it  sent  out  echoing  and  re- 
echoing with  a  curious  impression  of  emptiness  through 
the  house.  I  felt  myself  flushing;  I  did  not  seem 
an  important  enough  person  to  have  dared  make  so 
inuch  noise. 

I  had  not  long  to  wait  for  admittance.  A  middle- 
aged  man-servant,  who  looked  more  like  a  self-re- 


254  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

specting  valet  than  a  butler  or  footman,  opened  the 
door  after  a  short  dela}',  and  inv^ited  me  into  a  square 
hall,  sparsely  and  dingily  furnished. 

"I  have  called  in  answer  to  an  advertisement  in  the 
Lull  Herald/'  I  explained,  not  without  stammering  a 
little. 

"Yes,  madam,"  responded  the  servant.  "Will  you 
kindly  sit  down  and  wait  here  for  a  few  minutes? 
We  have  only  just  moved  in,  and  are  not  quite  in 
order  yet.  My  master  is  engaged  with  another  lady, 
but  I  think  that  he  will  shortly  be  ready  to  recei\  . 
you." 

''Engaged  in  engaging  the  other  lady  most  likely,"  I 
commented  mentally.  ''He  will  only  receive  me  for 
the  purpose  of  politely  regretting  that  the  situation  he 
offered  is  already  filled. 

My  hopes  stirred  faintly  again,  however,  when  the 
distant  ringing  of  a  bell  having  summoned  the  servant 
away,  he  returned  to  show  "the  other  lady"  out.  She 
was  of  a  certain  age,  pinched,  with  prim  lips  that 
looked  as  if  a  thin,  shrill  voice  might  be  meagrely 
cushioned  behind  them. 

Scarcely  had  she  departed,  when  a  third  candidate 
reached  the  door,  which  had  not  yet  closed  after  her 
rival.  But  it  was  my  turn  to  try  for  favour  first,  and 
while  she  reluctantly  availed  herself  of  my  forsaken 
chair,  I  was  led  away  through  the  wide  hall,  down  a 
narrow  corridor.  My  conductor  tapped  lightly  at  a 
door. 

"Come  in,"  was  murmured  on  the  other  side,  and 
*'Miss  Burns"  was  duly  announced. 


"WANTED  IMMEDIATELY"  255 

The  room  was  so  dark,  with  its  half-drawn  curtains 
and  lowered  blinds,  that,  after  the  brighter  light  of  the 
region,  I  had  left,  for  a  moment  or  two  I  could  make 
out  nothing  save  the  outlines  of  a  bowed  and  seated 
figure. 

"Pardon  my  not  rising,  Miss  Burns,"  whispered  an 
odd  voice,  suggesting  a  defective  palate  or  a  mouth  full 
of  pebbles.  "I  am  a  sad  invalid,  lame  as  well  as 
deprived  of  that  greatest  physical  blessing,  sight.  Will 
you  draw  a  chair  near  me?" 

I  took  one,  which  had  evidently  been  placed  in 
position  by  the  latest  comer.  The  master  of  Arrish 
Hall  sat  with  his  bent  back  to  such  light  as  filtered 
through  the  curtains,  while  I  faced  it.  I  fancied  that 
his  blindness  must  be  oi  the  kind  which  renders  light 
painful  to  his  nerves,  though  the  sense  of  sight  be 
gone;  for  not  only  did  he  court  darkness  in  the  room, 
but  his  eyes  were  covered  with  a  large  green  shade, 
beginning  under  the  thatch  of  long,  snow-streaked 
dark  hair,  and  so  shadowing  the  features  of  the  wearer 
that  nothing  above  the  end  of  his  nose  was  visible. 
Below  fell  a  heavy  beard,  that  flowed  over  the  breast 
— black,  tufted  here  and  there  with  white,  in  startling 
contrast. 

In  his  hand  he  held  a  gold-headed  cane,  and  he  was 
clad  in  a  remarkable  dressing-gown  of  silk,  whose  bar- 
baric embroidery  said  "India"  in  hieroglyphics.  On  a 
stool  before  him  a  bandaged  foot  was  stretched  stiffly 
out.  The  owner  of  Arrish  Hall  appeared  to  be  a  man 
greatly  afflicted,  for  apparently  his  sufferings  were  com- 
plicated by  gout. 


256  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

I  imparted  the  perhaps  unnecessary  information  that 
I  had  called  in  answer  to  his  advertisement.  As  I 
began  to  speak,  he  started  and  bent  forward,  as  if 
eagerly  listening. 

"Ah,  that  voice!"  he  exclaimed.  "It  is  what  I  have 
longed  for.  Miss — er — Burns,  will  you  kindly  take 
up  a  book — any  book — from  the  table,  which  I  think 
is  near  you,  and  read  half  a  page  aloud?" 

I  obeyed,  and  began  reading  at  random  from  Mere- 
dith's "Diana  of  the  Crossways." 

Presently  I  was  gently  bidden  to  cease. 

"It  is  enough,"  said  the  master  of  Arrish  Hall. 
"You  could  have  attempted  no  more  difficult  task  in 
reading  aloud  than  from  George  Meredith,  w^ho  re- 
veals his  choicest  meanings  at  first  sight  to  but  a 
favoured  f::".  You  are  one  of  the  few.  Your  voice 
is  a  rare  possession — a  rich  jewel.  You  sing,  also — a 
trained  voice?" 

"My  mother  trained  it,"  I  replied  impulsively.  "She 
sang  more  beautifully  than  anyone  I  ever  heard,"  I 
added. 

"You  must  sing  for  me — later.  That  is,  if  you  are 
willing  to  accept  the  position  I  am  able  to  offer.  The 
housekeeper  will  show  you  the  suite  of  rooms  selected 
for  my  secretary ;  I  hope  they  will  be  found  convenient. 
The  salary  I  thought  of  naming  is  eighty  pounds  a 
year,  payable  quarterly,  the  first  quarter  in  advance. 
You  would  be  required  to  write  and  read  for  me  dur- 
ing the  morning,  perhaps  also  for  an  hour  in  the  after- 
noon. In  the  evening  I  should  be  glad  of  a  few  songs 
after  dinner — perhaps  a  little  poetry.    The  rest  of  the 


''WANTED  IMMEDIATELY"  257 

time  would  be  your  own.    Will  you  come  to  me,  and 
if  so,  how  soon?" 

Would  I  come  to  him?  This  was  a  very  different 
way  of  putting  it  from  what  I  had  expected.  No  ques- 
tions asked,  no  references  required.  I  ought  to  have 
been  delighted ;  but — perhaps  it  was  the  cold  twilight 
and  the  musty  smell  of  the  big  room,  with  its  faded 
furnishings,  that  had  disheartened  me — I  felt  vaguely 
miserable. 

I  did  not  let  my  stupid  depression  interfere,  how- 
ever, with  a  speedy  snapping-up  of  the  luck  which  had 
befallen  me.  Eighty  pounds  a  year !  Why,  with  econ- 
omy, I  might  easily  send  sixty  to  Sir  George  Seaforth 
at  the  end  of  the  first  year,  and  so  on,  until  he  was 
repaid  for  his  "experiment,"  so  costly  to  me  as  well 
as  to  him. 

I  lost  no  time  in  announcing  that  I  could  come  next 
morning,  or  even  that  same  night  if  necessary.  Mr. 
Raynor — it  appeared  that  my  employer's  name  was 
Raynor — preferred  the  latter  arrangement,  and  so  it 
was  settled. 

I  stayed  for  a  few  moments  longer,  discussing  details 
of  future  occupation,  learning  that  the  new  master  of 
Arrish  Hall  had  spent  most  of  his  life  in  India,  and 
had  come  to  Dorsetshire  because  his  doctor  had  recom- 
mended sea-air  and  complete  quiet;  then — veiling  the 
light  of  triumph  on  my  face  as  I  passed  the  waiting 
candidate,  for  whom  disappointment  was  in  store — I 
was  shown  out  of  the  front-door. 

The  distance  did  not  seem  so  long  now,  nor  the 
heat  so  great.     I  walked  more  briskly,  planning  ways 


2S8  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

and  means  to  speed  the  sending  of  that  cheque,  to  in- 
crease its  size  by  diligent  economy.  I  was  no  happier 
than  1  had  been  on  the  night  that  I  fled  from  South- 
wood  Park;  my  wrongs  rankled  as  deeply  now  as  then, 
but  I  had  an  incentive.  I  was  buoyed  by  the  hope 
of  administering  punishment — a  mean,  unworthy  hope, 
perhaps;  but  it  would  scarcely  have  been  natural  if  in 
a  week  the  desire  to  make  the  sinner  suffer  as  he  had 
made  me  suffer  should  have  been  superseded  by  softer 
feelings. 

I  had  only  passed  the  gates  of  The  Pines  by  a  few 
yards  when  I  was  obliged  to  step  out  of  the  way  of 
an  approaching  brougham.  A  face  looked  out  at  me; 
it  was  "plain  Miss  Smith's." 

I  uttered  a  slight  exclamation  of  surprise,  which  was 
echoed  by  one  from  her.  She  had  recognized  me,  and, 
what  was  more,  she  was  calling  me  by  name,  not  the 
new  name,  with  which  I  had  hardly  made  myself  fa- 
miliar yet,  but  the  old  one — Consuelo  Brand. 

''What  are  you  doing  here?"  inquired  the  spinster, 
when  the  brougham  had  been  stopped  and  I  had  obeyed 
her  beckoning  summons  to  the  window. 

"Then  you  didn't  get  my  letter?" 

I  answered  her  question  by  another. 

"Haven't  had  a  letter  from  a  human  soul  for  a 
fortnight.  Gave  orders  not  to  have  any  forwarded. 
I've  been  dissipating,  my  girl.  Went  on  the  Continent 
for  the  first  time  In  my  life.  To  tell  the  truth,  my 
Idea  was  to  see  the  eye-doctor  in  Wiesbaden  that 
everybody  goes  to.  I  had  a  scare  about  my  sight,  but 
he  laughed  at  me,   and   told   me   I   wanted   stronger 


"WANTED  IMMEDIATELY"  259 

spectacles,  that  was  all.  I  made  the  mistake  of  for- 
geting  I  was  growing  old.  In  my  relief  I  was  in- 
clined to  remain  on  the  Continent  for  some  time.  I 
did  remain,  and  I  think  I  shall  occasionally  repeat  the 
experiment.  I  wish  you  had  been  with  me.  Are  yoa 
and  your  Lady  Sophonisba,  or  whatever  her  name  is, 
visiting  in  these  parts,  or  are  you  free  to  come  with 
me  to  lunch?" 

"Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton  and  I  have  parted,"  I  ex- 
claimed, vividly  blushing.  "I'm  lodging  in  a  fisher- 
man's cottage  at  present;  in  future  I'm  to  be  secretary 
to  a  gentleman  at  Arrish  Hall,  but  for  the  moment 
I  am  free  to  go  anywhere  you  are  willing  to  take  me." 

"Then  get  in  and  tell  the  coachman  to  drive  on," 
directed  Miss  Smith. 

By  the  time  we  had  reached  the  house  door  at  The 
Pines  I  had,  without  taking  her  entirely  into  my  con- 
fidence, told  my  companion  with  what  hopes  I  had 
come,  when  I  found  myself  in  need  of  a  friend,  to 
Dorsetshire. 

"And  you  did  quite  right,  too.  It's  my  boast  that 
I'm  a  woman  of  my  word,"  she  had  just  responded  as 
the  door  was  thrown  open  by  the  superior  maid  who 
had  pulverized  my  vanity  during  my  former  call. 

Her  face  when  she  beheld  me  entering  the  house 
in  familiar  converse  with  Miss  Smith  was  a  study. 
She  even  looked  somewhat  alarmed;  but  I  had  not 
told  tales  out  of  school,  and  she  was  safe  from  her 
mistress  so  far  as  I  was  concerned. 

On  Miss  Smith's  desk,  in  a  room  ambitiously  named 
"the   study,"    reposed   my   letter    among  others;    and 


26o  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

when  the  spinster  had  greeted  her  monkey  and  a  bevy 
of  other  pets,  she  insisted  on  reading  it  as  a  sort  of 
preface  to  my  explanations. 

"Can't  you  get  out  of  going  to  this  man  Raynor,  and 
come  to  me  instead?"  she  asked  abruptly. 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  1  said.  "It  wouldn't  be  very 
honourable,  would  it?  You  see,  it  is  my  fault  that 
h^  lias  told  other  people  his  arrangements  are  already 
made,  and  if  I  went  back  upon  the  arrangement  now 
I  might  cause  him  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  poor  old 
man!  Though  there  isn't  any  written  contract,  and 
though  the  w^hole  aifair  has  been  conducted  on  both 
sides  in  a  very  unbusinesslike  w^ay,  I  feel  bound  in 
honour." 

"I  suppose  you'll  have  to  carry  out  your  bargain, 
then,"  sighed  Miss  Smith.  "And  you're  right,  no 
doubt.  Only  it  is  rather  trying  that  I  should  have 
come  home  just  too  late.  I  told  you  in  London  that 
I  liked  you,  and  I  tell  you  so  again  in  Dorsetshire. 
It  would  please  me  very  much  to  have  your  face  where 
I  could  look  at  it  whenever  I  wanted  to.  I  was  on 
the  point  of  giving  you  an  invitation  to  come  here  and 
stop  with  me  as  long  as  you  chose,  that  day  at  my 
sister-in-law's,  when  in  sailed  Lady  Sophonisba,  and 
snatched  you  away  from  under  my  nose.  Now  it's  this 
Raynor  man — this  goodness-knows-what — who  has 
taken  that  old  ghost-trap,  Arrish  Hall.  You're  not 
superstitious,  evidently,  my  dear,  or  you  wouldn't  be 
found  dead  living  there — as  an  Irishman  would 
say." 

"Not,  I'm  not  superstitious,"  I  returned.    "Besides, 


^'WANTED  IMMEDIATELY"  261 

beggars  mustn't  be  choosers ;  though,  of  course,  I  should 
have  been  much  happier  if  I  could  have  stopped  for 
a  time  with  you." 

"Well,  I  shouldn't  have  paid  you  eighty  pounds  a 
year,  my  child.  I  consider  the  man  is  throwing  money 
away  on  you,  though  it's  an  ill  wind  that  blows 
nobody  good;  and  I  dare  say  you're  pleased  to 
get  it." 

I  admitted  that  I  was  pleased,  though  I  did  not 
confess  why  I  cared  so  much,  so  very  much;  and, 
after  all,  I  began  to  think  that  I  had  done  well  in 
answering  the  advertisement. 

"Run  over  and  see  me  every  day  if  you  can,  when 
you  are  settled  down  at  Arrish  Hall,"  said  Miss 
Smith,  when,  after  luncheon,  I  was  ready  to  depart.  "I 
certainly  can't  go  to  you,  or  folks  would  be  putting 
it  round  that  I  was  setting  my  cap  at  this  old  widower, 
or  bachelor,  or  whatever  he  is.  Good-bye,  and  re- 
member that  if  you  don't  like  your  place,  there's  an- 
other one  open  to  you." 

Mrs.  Nye,  while  expressing  herself  as  sorry  to  lose 
the  "sweetest  face  she'd  ever  had  inside  her  house," 
congratulated  me  on  my  luck  and  helped  me  to  pack. 
My  luggage  did  not  necessitate  the  expense  of  a  cab 
— every  shilling  saved  was  to  go  towards  the  great 
sum — ^but  my  good  landlady  would  not  permit  that  I 
should  carry  it.  Thomas  Nye  should  see  to  that,  and 
glad  he  would  be  to  do  anything  for  Miss  Burns.  I 
could  just  go  in  by  myself,  with  my  hands  crossed,  and 
leave  the  rest  to  him. 

There  were  tears  in  my  eyes  when  I  bade  the  kind 


262  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

woman  good-bye  at  last,  though  three  miles  or  so  was 
not  a  formidable  distance;  and  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
tell  that  I  kissed  her. 

I  did  not  start  until  after  I  had  had  my  supper — with 
an  extra  dish,  and  a  few  home-made  cakes  to  put  in 
my  bag,  as  a  present  from  Mrs.  Nye — for  I  did  not 
wish  to  arrive  at  Arrish  Hall  until  after  my  employer 
had  dined. 

My  breakfast  and  luncheon  were  to  be  served  to  me 
alone  in  my  own  sitting-room  at  my  new  home;  but 
dinner  was  to  be  eaten  in  state,  with  the  companion- 
ship of  Mr.  Raynor;  and  this  ordeal  had  seemed  too 
much  for  the  first  night  of  residence. 

The  same  servant  I  had  seen  in  the  morning  let  me 
in  again  in  the  evening,  when  I  had  found  my  way  up 
through  the  shadows  of  the  avenue  to  the  old  hall. 
Mr.  Raynor  had  hoped  to  greet  me,  I  was  informed, 
but  a  severe  attack  of  gout  had  driven  him  early  to  bed. 
The  housekeeper  would  show  me  my  rooms — I  had 
not  seen  them  earlier  in  the  day,  though  Mr.  Ray- 
nor had  seemed  half  to  suggest  that  I  should — and  I 
would  not  be  needed  until  ten  o'clock  next  morn- 
ing. 

For  a  few  moments  I  was  left  alone,  standing  in  the 
large  hall.  A  hanging  lamp  of  quaint  old  fashion  had 
been  lit,  but  the  dim  light  it  gave  seemed  only  to  ren- 
der darkness  more  visible,  to  make  the  shadows  crowd 
nearer  from  the  corners.  The  place  looked  as  if  it 
had  lain  under  a  ban. 

For  the  first  time  my  thoughts  dwelt  upon  the 
vague  references  made  by  Mrs.  Nye  and  Miss  Smith 


"WANTED  IMMEDIATELY"  263 

to  the  stories  told  about  the  house.  It  was  said  to 
be  haunted,  I  knew,  and  to  have  stood  tenantless  for 
years.  I  began  to  wonder,  with  a  shght  creepiness  run- 
ning down  my  back,  what  were  the  tales  that  had 
kept  Arrish  Hall  empty  for  so  long„ 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

THE   STORY   THAT  THE    HOUSEKEEPER  TOLD 

So  deeply  was  I  engrossed  in  thought,  that  I  be- 
lieved myself  to  be  still  alone  in  the  hall,  when  a 
voice  spoke  suddenly  close  to  my  ear. 

I  turned,  with  a  start,  and  a  suppressed  exclama- 
tion, to  see  an  elderly  woman,  whose  slippered  feet 
had  made  no  noise  in  their  approach. 

"Good-evening,  miss,"  she  remarked.  "I  am  Mrs. 
Walsh,  Mr.  Raynor's  housekeeper,  and  I  am  asked  to 
show  you  your  rooms." 

She  was  staring  at  me,  blinking  and  peering  from 
under  remarkably  full,  wrinkled  lids,  that  looked  like 
badly  rolled-up  blinds,  over  the  dull  windows  of  her 
eyes.  I  did  not  like  her  face  at  all.  The  features 
were  prominent  and  slightly  misshapen  by  a  severe 
attack  of  small-pox,  which  had  left  her  skin  deeply 
pitted,  faded  to  the  colour  of  clay. 

Its  cadaverous  effect  was  heightened  by  a  dark  red 
front  of  false  hair  folded  smoothly  over  the  ears,  under 
a  smart  cap  with  lavender  ribbons.  She  had  keys  in 
her  hands — they  were  knotted,  deceitful-looking  hands, 
with  incredibly  long  fingers. 

No,  I  did  not  think  that  Mrs.  Walsh  and  I  were 
likely  to  be  friends. 

264 


STORY  THE  HOUSEKEEPER  TOLD  265 

I  said  something,  I  hardly  knew  what,  though  I 
tried  to  make  it  civil,  and  followed  her  out  of  the 
hall,  through  the  corridor  I  had  seen  in  the  morning, 
past  the  door  of  the  dreary  ''library,"  where  I  had 
talked  with  Mr.  Raynor,  and  so  upstairs. 

At  the  top  Mrs.  Walsh  lighted  a  candle  among  sev- 
eral others  in  brass  sticks  on  a  table.  We  walked  along 
a  narrow  passage,  which  would  have  been  dark  save 
for  our  candle  and  a  light  that  came  dimly  from  below. 
At  a  door  halfway  down  its  length  the  housekeeper 
paused. 

"Your  sitting-room,  miss,"  she  announced,  with  an 
air  of  pride. 

It  was  a  very  good  room,  as  far  as  size  and  shape 
were  concerned,  and  it  was  evident  that  some  pains 
had  been  taken  to  make  it  habitable.  I  was  grateful 
for  this,  and  glanced  about  with  a  certain  interest. 

"It  is  very  kind  of  Mr.  Raynor  to  give  me  such  a 
nice  room,"  I  said.  "He  seems  to  be  a  great  sufferer. 
Have  you  been  with  him  long?" 

"Oh,  no,  miss,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Walsh,  with  an 
air  of  surprise.  "I  never  saw  Mr.  Raynor  till  a  few 
days  ago.  I  was  caretaker  here.  I'd  lived  in  the 
house  ever  since  Sir  Marmaduke  Yorke,  who  owns  the 
Hall,  took  a  distaste  for  the  place,  and  went  away, 
leaving  It  shut  up  but  for  me  and  my  son,  who's  gone 
to  America  now.  Mr.  Raynor  came  down  with  a 
gentleman,  and  was  taken  through  all  the  rooms.  They 
were  described  to  him,  though  he  couldn't  see.  Then 
he  seems  to  have  decided  on  renting  the  Hall  at  once, 
for  within  a  few  hours  I  got  word  that  he  would  move 


266  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

in  the  first  hour  of  the  week,  and  would  keep  mc  on 
as  housekeeper,  if  I  could  cook.  That  was  what  I 
was  used  to  In  old  daj's.  I  don't  say  It  Isn't  a  rise 
for  me  to  be  In  my  present  position,  but  I  Intend  to 
give  satisfaction  to  Mr.  Ray  nor  if  I  can. 

"I've  been  expecting  a  batch  of  his  servants  down 
from  town,"  continued  Mrs.  Walsh;  "but  the  master 
doesn't  wish  to  have  them  sent  for.  It  appears,  until 
the  place  has  been  got  Into  better  shape.  Thinks  they 
might  find  fault  and  be  discontented,  I  suppose,  though 
what's  been  good  enough  for  me  all  these  years  ought 
to  be  good  enough  for  them.  And  Mr.  Jennings,  Mr. 
Raynor's  own  man,  who  has  come  with  his  master,  to 
make  himself  generally  useful  until  the  others  arrive, 
has  not  complained  of  the  way  he  found  things  In  the 
house.  If  the  rest  are  anything  like  him,  we  shall  do 
very  well." 

As  she  talked  on,  the  woman  settled  her  cap  and 
her  collar,  giving  her  neat  black  cashmere  gown  a  pat 
now  and  then,  which  expressed  the  pride  of  novelty.  If 
she  was  repulsive  In  her  respectable,  housekeeperly 
dress,  I  wondered  what  she  must  have  been  when,  free 
from  the  obligation  to  live  up  to  a  new  position,  she 
had  merely  been  caretaker. 

I  rather  wondered  that  Mr.  Raynor  had  chosen  to 
keep  Her  on  in  so  responsible  a  situation,  putting  her 
over  his  own  old  servants,  who  were  evidently  await- 
ing a  summons  to  flit  from  a  town-house;  but  I  de- 
cided that  he  must  have  parted  with  a  London  Incum- 
bent, and  been  too  kind-hearted  to  dismiss  Mrs.  Walsh 
from  an  old  home,  where  her  knowledge  of  the  place 


STORY  THE  HOUSEKEEPER  TOLD  267 

and  neighbourhood  might  perhaps  prove  to  be  of  more 
or  less  use. 

"See  what  a  nice  new  wardrobe  Mr.  Raynor  has 
had  put  into  your  bedchamber  for  you,  miss,"  the 
housekeeper  went  on,  pushing  wide  open  a  door,  which 
already  stood  ajar. 

There  was  a  faint  light  on  the  other  side,  and  I 
saw  that  the  room  into  which  she  led  me  was  lit  with 
gas.  All  the  furniture  was  old,  save  the  one  article 
to  which  my  guide  had  referred,  and  while  I  appreci- 
ated Mr.  Raynor 's  rather  unusual  consideration  for  a 
paid  secretary,  my  sense  of  humour,  still  alive,  made 
me  smile  at  the  disproportionate  size  of  the  huge  ark 
and  my  one  small  piece  of  luggage. 

''Lined  with  cedar,  miss,  to  keep  out  the  moths," 
the  housekeeper  explained,  revealing  the  inner  recesses 
of  the  wardrobe,  one  side  of  which  was  provided  with 
shelves,  the  other  with  hooks  for  hanging  garments. 

The  fragrance  of  the  cedar  was  agreeable,  and  I  was 
grateful  for  m.y  employer's  thought  for  my  comfort, 
though  there  was  scarcely  anything  which,  at  present, 
I  needed  less  than  such  an  article  of  furniture. 

''It  only  came  in  this  morning  early,"  continued 
Mrs.  Walsh,  "with  a  few  other  things  which  the  mas- 
ter has  had  sent  down  from  town — a  bath-chair  for 
himself,  and  such  like.  He  does  seem  a  kind  gentle- 
man, as  you  say.  I  think  you  and  me  will  have  a  very 
good  place  here." 

Her  words  put  me  on  a  level  with  herself,  and  I 
experienced  a  faint  sense  of  resentment,  not  prompted 
by  my  vanity,  for  that  was  dead  or  dying,  but  by  my 


268  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

feeling  of  dislike  for  the  woman,  with  her  stealthy  step 
and  her  peering  eyes.  I  made  no  answer,  and,  after 
aimlessly  lingering  for  a  moment  or  two,  as  if  seeking 
for  an  excuse  to  remain,  she  at  last  moved  slowly 
across  the  floor. 

"I  believe  I  understood  you  to  say  you  had  had  your 
supper,  miss?"  she  inquired,  her  lean  fingers  on  the 
door  handle.  *'Ah,  I  thought  so.  Then,  I  suppose 
you  won't  be  requiring  anything  more  till  to-morrow 
morning,  when  your  breakfast  shall  be  here  in  your 
sitting-room  at  about  half-past  eight  o'clock.  As  there's 
only  myself  to  wait  on  you,  perhaps  you'll  excuse  hot 
water  for  your  bath,  which,  as  you  see,  has  been  put 
ready  overnight.     But,  of  course,  if  you " 

"Please  don't  trouble,"  I  said.  "I  like  my  bath 
cold." 

"Thank  you.     I  hope  you'll  sleep  well." 

She  opened  the  door,  but  still  made  no  move  towards 
going  out. 

"You're  not  timid,  I  hope?" 

Evidently  there  was  something  more  she  wished  to 
say,  though  she  did  not  quite  see  how  to  begin. 

"I  don't  think  I'm  particularly  timid,"  I  answered 
conservatively. 

"It  is  a  good  thing  you  are  not  nervous,"  said  Mrs. 
Walsh.  "But  I  suppose  if  you  had  been  you  wouldn't 
have  taken  your  situation  here,  for,  of  course,  if  you've 
lived  any  time  in  the  neighbourhood  you  must  have 
heard  the  stories?" 

I  ought,  no  doubt,  to  have  answered  with  dignified 
reserve  that  I  neither  had  heard  nor  wished  to  hear 


STORY  THE  HOUSEKEEPER  TOLD  269 

the  tales  to  which  she  referred.  But  the  eerie,  irritat- 
ing fascination  of  an  old  house  was  beginning  to  grip 
me.  I  did  not  desire  to  listen  to  the  woman's  gossip, 
yet  I  could  not  let  her  go  until  I  should  know  what 
she  knew. 

"What  are  the  stories?"  I  found  myself  questioning, 
half  against  my  will. 

"There's  many  of  them,  for  Arrish  Hall  is  an  old 
house,  and  there's  been  plenty  of  time  for  queer  things 
to  happen.  In  one  room  there's  said  to  be  a  knocking 
on  the  wall,  always  after  midnight.  People  used  to 
hear  it,  and  wonder,  till  finally  Sir  Marmaduke's 
grandfather  had  the  wall  opened,  and  there  was  the 
skeleton  of  a  tall  man,  dressed  as  men  dressed  in  the 
days  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Nobody  could  find  out  the 
story  of  how  he'd  been  put  there,  or  why;  but  though 
the  bones  were  decently  buried,  and  the  wall  built  up 
again,  the  knocking  didn't  stop.  It's  been  heard  even 
of  late  years. 

"But  that  wasn't  the  thing  that  drove  Sir  Marma- 
duke  aw^ay,  and  kept  the  house  empty  since.  That 
was  a  matter  which  took  place  not  so  very  long  ago, 
and  gave  the  Hall  an  ill  name.  An  uncle  of  Sir  Mar- 
maduke''s,  who  lived  here  about  fifteen  or  twenty 
years  ago,  killed  his  younger  brother,  in  a  dispute  over 
a  lady  they  were  both  in  love  with.  It  happened  at 
night,  and  next  morning  the  murderer  was  found  quite 
mad,  rubbing  out  the  blood-stains  with  a  curtain  he'd 
torn  down.  They  only  guessed  how  the  quarrel  had 
begun  by  his  ravings.  He  died,  a  maniac,  a  few 
months  after,  and  since  then,  every  Friday  night — the 


270  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

murder  was  on  a  Friday — there's  that  awful  sound  of 
rubbing,  rubbing,  going  on  and  on  till  the  dawn  comes. 

"At  least,  Sir  Marmaduke  thought  he  heard  it,  and 
so  did  one  or  two  people  who  came  to  visit  him;  and 
it  drove  him  out  of  the  house.  Mr.  Raynor's  the  first 
tenant,  though  the  place  has  been  to  let  for  eight  years. 
I  can't  say  that  I  ever  heard  anything  queer  myself, 
which  is  a  pretty  good  test.  But  I  thought  you  ought 
to  know,  miss,  in  case  there  should  ever  be  a  noise  in 
the  night — which  I  hope  there  won't  be — that  it  isn't 
burglars  or  anything  to  hurt  you.  I  hope  I've  done 
right,  and  that  I'm  not  leaving  you  uncomfortable?" 

''Oh,  no,  not  at  all  uncomfortable,"  I  firmly  an- 
swered. 

But  as  she  bade  me  good-night,  and  closed  the  door, 
I  felt  a  humiliating  impulse  to  run  after  her  and  call 
her  back. 

I  resisted  the  temptation ;  but  when  I  was  left  alone, 
and  the  sound  of  Mrs.  Walsh's  soft  footsteps  had  died 
away  along  the  uncarpeted  passage,  with  its  loose  and 
creaky  boards,  I  hesitated  with  my  hand  on  the  key. 
Should  I  lock  the  door,  or  should  I  not? 

If  I  had  not  heard  the  housekeeper's  gruesome  gos- 
sip, I  should  certainly  have  fastened  myself  into  m.y 
own  domain.  But  I  had  absolutely  not  dared  to  in- 
quire whether  my  rooms  were  the  ones  in  which  the 
ghastly  sound  of  rubbing  had  been  heard  by  Sir  Mar- 
maduke Yorke  and  his  guests;  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that,  since  they  were  the  ones  used  by  the  late  master 
of  Arrish  Hall,  he  might  have  had  particular  reasons 
for  deserting  them. 


STORY  THE  HOUMKEEPER  TOLD  271 

I  had  never  thought  myself  a  coward,  and  I  did 
not  believe  in  supernatural  appearances;  yet  never  be- 
fore had  I  been  subjected  to  such  a  test  as  the  present 
one,  and  I  did  not  feel  inclined  to  shut  myself  away 
with  my  doubts  from  all  communication  with  the  rest 
of  the  household. 

If  Mrs.  Walsh  had  unfolded  her  grim  tales  in  morn- 
ing sunlight,  I  should  probably  not  have  regarded  them 
seriously ;  but  it  was  a  different  thing  to  be  left  alone, 
after  dark,  in  rooms  where  a  murder  might  have  taken 
place,  for  all  I  knew  to  the  contrary.  Of  course,  one 
room  was  as  good  as  another,  no  matter  what  awful 
scene  might  have  been  enacted  there  years  ago;  of 
course,  too,  there  was  no  such  thing  as  ''haunting;"  I 
should  hear  nothing,  as  the  night  went  on,  because 
there  would 'be  nothing  to  hear,  and  I  must  not  behave 
like  a  foolish,  frightened  child — I,  who  had  serious 
troubles,  and  should  have  passed  beyond  such  sickly 
superstition. 

These  mental  injunctions  I  repeated  over  and  over, 
with  more  or  less  encouraging  results.  Still,  I  did 
not  lock  the  door  of  my  sitting-room,  which  led  into 
the  passage;  nor  did  I  think  that,  later,  I  should  lock 
the  door  of  the  bedroom  beyond.  Though  I  had  de- 
cided that  there  would  be  nothing  supernatural  to  hear, 
should  there  be,  I  must  certainly  die  a  most  dreadful 
death  of  sheer  terror  if  I  had  to  stop  and  fumble  with 
keys  and  bolts  before  escaping  into  the  passage  to  call 
for  help. 

I  disliked  Mrs.  Walsh,  but  I  was  not  sorry  to  re- 
member that  she  had  mentioned  occupying  a  room  in 


2-;i  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

the  same  wing  with  me.  She  would  be  awful  to  look 
upon  in  night  attire  without  the  red  false  front;  but 
she  would  be  beautiful  indeed  compared  to  a  ghostly 
visitant. 

Leaving  the  door  at  last  merely  latched,  I  busied 
myself  in  putting  away  the  few  poor  little  possessions 
which  Mr.  Thomas  Nye  had  carried  in  my  bag  from 
the  cottage  to  the  hall.  Later  I  found  a  few  novels 
placed  for  my  benefit,  perhaps,  on  the  shelves  of  a 
glass-fronted  bookcase  in  the  sitting-room.  I  was  in 
no  mood  for  light  reading,  but  it  was  better  to  read 
than  to  think,  and  I  did  read  until  verj^  late. 

I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  the  gas  burned  dimly 
In  my  bedroom  during  all  that  night,  and  I  was  thank- 
ful, through  troubled  wakings  and  snatches  of  fitful 
slumber,  that  it  was  gas,  and  not  a  candle  to  flicker 
out  while  darkness  still  curtained  the  world. 

But  morning  stole  under  my  window-blinds  at 
length,  and  there  had  been  no  sound  in  the  rooms  save 
those  of  my  own  restless  tossing  and  turning,  no  hor- 
rors save  those  conjured  up  by  my  imagination.  I 
rose  before  eight,  feeling  weary  and  fagged,  with  a 
wiry  headache  that  picked  at  the  nerves  in  my  temples 
like  fingers  at  the  strings  of  a  banjo.  After  my  bath 
I  grew  more  alive,  however,  and  pride  kept  me  from 
complaining  to  Mrs.  Walsh  when  she  brought  me  a 
boiled  egg,  with  tea  and  toast. 

Still  less  would  I  have  dwelt  upon  my  ^rif-made 
tortures  to  Mr.  Raynor,  when  I  went  to  hmi  at  ten 
o'clock.  The  post  had  lately  arrived,  it  seemed,  and 
among  several  unimportant  letters,  which  must  be  read 


STORY  THE  HOUSEKEEPER  TOLD  273 

aloud  to  my  employer,  there  was  one  for  me,  from 
Miss  Smith. 

"I  have  been  making  inquiries  about  your  Mr.  Ray- 
nor,"  she  brusquely  began.  ''Nobody  knows  anything 
about  him,  though  he  must  have  had  references  which 
satisfied  Marmaduke  Yorke's  agent,  or  Arrish  Hall 
wouldn't  have  been  let  to  him,  even  for  the  small  sum 
at  which  the  owner  is  glad  to  be  rid  of  it.  But 
this  much  is  known;  the  man  seemed  in  a  tremendous 
hurry  to  get  a  house  in  this  particular  neighbourhood, 
and  all  arrangements  were  made  in  the  course  of  a  few 
days. 

"That,  I  think,  is  against  him,"  the  letter  proceeded. 
"Why  couldn't  he  do  things  like  other  people?  and, 
above  everything,  why  should  he  want  to  live  at  Arrish 
Hall?  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  less  suitable  does 
it  seem  to  me  that  a  young  girl  should  be  allowed 
to  stop  at  such  a  gloomy  place,  in  the  employment  of 
a  person  who  may  be  a  coiner  or — anything,  for  what 
one  knows.  Make  som?  excuse  and  come  away.  I 
wouldn't  mention  that  I  had  a  friend  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, if  I  were  you,  until  I  had  decided  on  what  steps 
I  meant  to  take,  and  arranged  to  take  them;  for  this 
Mr.  Raynor  m.ay  try  to  keep  you  close  if  he  has  a  sus- 
picion that  you  are  subject  to  outside  influence. 

"Say  this  letter  calls  you  from  Arrish  Hall  at  once. 
It  isn't  likely  that,  as  Mr.  Raynor  is  blind,  the  post- 
mark will  be  noticed.  There'll  be  a  corner  ready  for 
you  here  whenever  you  like  to  come,  the  sooner  the 
better.     If  to-day  w^on't  do,  what  do  you  say  to  to- 


274  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

^' James,  my  servant,  who  gave. me  my  letters,  men- 
tioned that  there  was  one  for  you,"  mildly  observed 
Mr.  Raynor.     "  I  trust  there  is  no  bad  news?" 

"Oh  no,  not  exactly  bad,"  I  faltered. 

"Something  distressing,  I  fear,  from  your  tone. 
James  noticed  that  the  Lull  postmark  was  on  the  let- 
ter. I  am  glad  that  you  have  friends  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. It  will  make  it  pleasanter  for  you  in  the  future. 
I  don't  want  to  make  you  a  recluse,  Miss — er — 
Burns." 

I  experienced  a  guilty  pang.  I  did  not  mean  to  take 
Miss  Smith  at  her  word;  but  I  felt,  somehow^,  it  must 
be  my  fault  that  she  had  misjudged  him.  Even  if  it 
had  not  been  for  the  salary,  I  would  not  have  left  the 
unfortunate  invalid  in  the  lurch,  after  all  his  kindly 
consideration  of  me,  no  matter  how  mysteriously  dis- 
agreeable his  house  might  be. 

I  was  ashamed  that  I  had  intended  to  adopt  the 
advice  received  in  my  letter,  keeping  my  friendship 
with  Miss  Smith  from  Mr.  Raynor;  and  I  was  half 
glad,  by  way  of  self-punishment,  that  the  small  secret 
had  discovered  itself.  So  far  from  wishing  to  shut  me 
up  from  outside  influences,  he  was  opening  the  door  for 
me  unasked. 

"I  know  Miss  Smith,  of  The  Pines,  a  mile  from 
here,"  I  confessed,  with  belated  frankness.  "The  let- 
ter is  from  her.  If  you  don't  object,  I  should  be  glad 
to  walk  over  there  this  afternoon,  when  you  are  not 
needing  me.  I'd  only  be  away  for  an  hour  and  a  half 
at  most." 

Perhaps  I  was  mistaken,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that 


STORY  THE  HOUSEKEEPER  TOLD  275 

Mr.  Raynor's  face  changed  ever  so  slightly  under  the 
green  shade. 

"Oh,  of  course,  of  course,  if  you  desire  it,"  he  said. 
^'But  listen  to  the  rain  beating  against  the  window.  It 
will  be  a  bad  day,  Mrs.  Walsh  prophesies.  What 
should  I  do  if  you  took  a  cold,  and  lost  your  voice, 
so  that  for  days  I  was  deprived  of  the  pleasure  of  lis- 
tening to  it — the  one  pleasure  which  my  wrecked  life 
can  hold?  I  suppose  you  would  not  be  willing  to 
write  your  friend  a  cordial  little  note,  saying  that,  if 
the  weather  permits,  you  will  spend  the  day  with  her 
to-morrow?" 

"Certainly,  I  will  write  to-day  instead  of  going," 
I  hastened  to  assure  Mr.  Raynor.  "It  does  not  matter 
at  all.  To-morrow  will  do  quite  as  well  for  a  visit, 
as  Miss  Smith  doesn't  expect  me  at  any  particular 
time." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  Mr.  Raynor  ejaculated, 
with  such  disproportionate  display  of  gratitude  that 
again  I  felt  quite  guilty,  as  if  I  too  had  done  the  poor 
old  man  an  injustice. 

I  read  aloud  to  him — letters,  newspapers,  a  new 
volume  of  travel  by  a  famous  man — until  lunch-time. 
Then  I  was  free  for  an  hour,  before  I  should  begin 
a  favourite  poem  of  Browning's  to  continue  until  four 
o'clock.  I  lunched  in  my  sitting-room,  and  afterwards 
scribbled  a  hurried  note  to  Miss  Smith,  which  Mr. 
Raynor  had  already  offered  to  let  his  man  take  by 
hand  to  The  Pines  for  me. 

I  drew  her  letter  from  my  pocket,  to  use  as  a  ref- 
erence in  writing  to  her,  and  noticed  something  which 


276  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

I  had  not  seen  In  the  hurry  of  opening  It  earlier  In 
the  day.  The'  envelope  had  apparently  been  inade- 
quately sealed,  for  the  flap — which  I  had  cut  across 
the  top — had  now  almost  entirely  come  off. 

If  Mr.  Raynor  had  not  been  blind,  and  had  taken 
any  special  Interest  In  my  Insignificant  affairs,  he  might 
easily  have  read  the  letter  before  I  came  down,  with- 
out my  knowing  anything  about  It.  But  he  was  blind, 
and,  besides,  my  correspondence  could  be  of  no  pos- 
sible Importance  to  my  employer,  or  anyone  else  In  his 
odd  household.  I  did  not  feel  in  the  least  appre- 
hensive, when  I  came  to  think  the  matter  over,  lest  the 
letter  had  been  tampered  with. 

And  even  If  James's  eye  had  slyly  glanced  over  the 
lines  before  mine  had  seen  them,  I  could  not  see  that 
any  real  harm  had  been  done.  It  was  not  my  fault 
that  Miss  Smith  had  cautioned  me  against  the  master 
of  Arrish  Hall,  and  Invited  m.e  to  abandon  my  en- 
gagement In  favour  of  a  visit  to  her. 

Mr.  Raynor's  prophecy  regarding  the  weather 
proved  true.  All  day  long  the  rain  fell.  When  I 
went  down  to  begin  a  course  of  Browning,  at  about 
three  o'clock,  a  fire  had  been  lighted  in  the  room 
where  the  blind  man  sat.  Though  we  were  in  the 
first  days  of  August,  the  small  blaze  was  welcome, 
and  gave  a  much-needed,  if  superficial,  appearance  of 
cheerfulness  to  the  dull,  musty  room. 

I  was  invited  to  remain  with  Mr.  Raynor  for  tea, 
and  accepted  with  concealed  reluctance;  but  he  made 
the  time  pass  agreeably  enough  with  tales  of  India, 
by  which  I  should  have  been  much  entertained  had  I 


STORY  THE  HOUSEKEEPER  TOLD  277 

been  in  a  state  to  care  for  anything  outside  my  own 
self-absorbing  troubles;  and  he  displayed  a  flattering 
desire  to  draw  from  me  particulars  regarding  my  past 
life  and  my  Interests. 

Again,  we  met  at  dinner,  in  a  gloomy  dining-room, 
James  waiting  upon  us,  and  Mr.  Raynor  kept  me 
for  an  hour  or  more  at  the  piano  afterwards. 

At  last,  when  he  seemed  willing  to  let  me  rest,  I 
rose.  I  was  tired  after  last  night's  wakefulness,  and 
fancied  hopefully  that  even  the  memory  of  Mrs. 
Walsh's  ghost-stories  would  not  keep  me  from  sleeping 
now. 

"If  you  don't  care  to  hear  any  more  singing,  I  think 
I'll  ask  permission  to  go,  Mr.  Raynor,"  I  said. 

"Certainly;  I  trust  I  have  not  been  too  exacting. 
But  stop  one  moment  before  you  leave  me,  Miss  Burns. 
I  w^ant  you  to  do  me  a  little  favour." 

I  waited  In  expectancy.  Mr.  Raynor's  curious, 
broken  voice  sounded  almost  eajier. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

A   GLASS   OF    GREEN    CHARTREUSE 

"The  fire  is  out,  I  can  tell  by  the  chill  in  the 
air,"  went  on  the  blind  man.  "You  are  cold,  I  know, 
and  your  voice  sounds  tired  when  you  speak.  To 
please  me,  you  will  drink  a  glass  of  this  green 
chartreuse." 

He  put  out  his  hand,  and  groped  along  the  table 
close  to  his  arm-chair.  The  faithful  James  placed 
within  his  master's  reach  a  tray  containing  a  delicate 
little  liqueur-flask  and  rv\'o  small  glasses,  one  amber- 
coloured,  the  other  red.  I  felt  sure  as  I  glanced  at 
these  dainty  things  that  they  must  have  been  among 
the  possessions  brought  down  from  London  by  Mr. 
Raynor. 

"Thank  you,  you  are  very  kind,  but  I  would  rather 
not  have  it,"  I  objected  hastily.  "I  have  not  been 
used  to  wine  or  liqueurs  of  any  kind,  and  they  go  to 
my  head.     I  am  sure  I  shall  be  better  without  it." 

"Let  me  prescribe  for  you,"  urged  Mr.  Raynor. 
"This  is  an  exceptional  case.  You  cannot  be  too 
careful  of  a  voice  like  yours,  and  green  chartreuse  is 
especially  beneficial.  I  had  it  brought  out  on  purpose. 
As  you  are  going  to  your  room,  it  cannot  matter  if 
it  does  'go  to  your  head,'  as  you  say,  but  will  only 
278 


A  GLASS  OF  GREEN  CHARTREUSE    279 

tend  to  make  you  sleep  the  more  soundly — a  sweet, 
long  sleep,  without  dreams." 

"A  sweet  sleep,  without  dreams!"  I  echoed  sadly. 
"I  should  be  glad  of  that.  I  do  not  like  to  dream 
— lately.  Still,  I  really  don't  think  I  need  the  liqueur, 
and " 

"If  you  wish  me  to  sleep  you  will  drink  it,"  inter- 
polated the  blind  man.  "I  feel  you  have  done  too 
much  for  me.  I  have  a  sense  of  responsibility,  and 
I  am  anxious  lest  you  should  have  caught  a  cold.  I 
may  be  fussy,  but  I  can't  help  It,  and  you  might  be 
kind,  to  set  my  mind  at  rest." 

*'Oh,  If  I  can  do  that  so  easily,"  I  exclaimed,  smil- 
ing, "I  will  drink  the  liqueur  with  pleasure,  and  risk 
the  consequences." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  though  thanks  seemed  due 
entirely  from  the  other  side. 

He  poured  the  bright  emerald  liquid  into  the  ruby 
glass,  with  remarkable  skill  and  precision  for  a  blind 
m.an,  and  extended  it  to  me  without  spilling  a  drop, 
then  filled  the  amber  glass  for  himself. 

As  he  did  so  I  noticed  that  the  long  white  hand 
trembled.  I  wished  that  his  hand  had  been  of  a 
different  shape.  It  reminded  me — only  slightly,  but 
still  too  much — of  another  hand  I  had  once  seen,  and 
had  some  cause  to  remember. 

"You  will  drink  it  all?"  urged  Mr.  Raynor.  "It  Is 
no  use  to  prescribe,  you  know,  unless  the  patient  faith- 
fully obeys  orders." 

*'I  will  do  my  best,"  I  said,  and  sipped  the  liqueur, 
which  I  had  never  tasted  before. 


28o  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

It  was  sweet  and  strong,  and  rather  nice,  though 
there  was  a  faint  suspicion  of  bitterness  underneath 
the  syrupy  sweetness.  I  would  gladly  have  set  the 
little  glass  down  half  emptied,  but  it  seemed  a  shame 
to  cheat  the  poor  blind  eyes  that  could  not  see  whether 
I  kept  faith  or  not,  and  so  I  loyally  drained  the  liqueur 
almost  to  the  last  drop. 

"Good-night,"  said  Mr.  Raynor.  "I  wish  you  that 
long,  dreamless  sleep  which  you  desire." 

I  thanked  him,  and  rang  the  bell  for  James,  who 
would  help  his  master  to  bed.  By  the  time  I  had 
gone  half-way  upstairs  I  was  already  sleepy,  and  when 
I  had  reached  my  own  rooms  the  thought  of  bed 
began  to  seem  the  most  important  thing  in  the  world. 

Before  to-night,  in  the  long  days  that  had  passed 
since  my  banishment  from  fairyland,  the  moment  I 
had  found  myself  alone,  cruel  memory  had  knocked 
loudly  at  the  door  of  my  heart,  refusing  to  be  denied. 
But  now  I  thought  of  nothing,  cared  for  nothing,  save 
rest. 

I  made  myself  ready  for  bed  as  quickly  as  I  could, 
half  asleep  as  I  undressed.  I  was  not  afraid  of  ghosts 
that  rapped  to  be  let  out  of  walls,  or  rubbed  the 
blood-stains  from  floors,  to-night,  and  I  locked  the  one 
door  in  my  bedroom,  though  more  mechanically — be- 
cause at  other  houses  I  had  been  accustomed  to  doing 
so — than  because  I  preferred  the  additional  security. 

The  first  night  of  my  arrival  I  had  found  my  win- 
dow, which  was  a  double  one,  tightly  closed,  excluding 
all  fresh  air,  and  I  had  hastened  to  open  both  sashes. 
To-night,  though  I  had  mentioned  to  Mrs.  Walsh  in 


A  GLASS  OF  GREEN  CHARTREUSE     281 

the  morning  that  I  always  slept  with  my  window 
open,  it  was  closed  again. 

The  atmosphere  felt  heavy  and  dead,  though  the 
night  was  so  chill  for  August;  and,  tired  ae  I  was,  at 
the  last  moment,  before  putting  out  my  gas,  the  de- 
sirability of  obtaining  fresh  air  occurred  to  me. 

I  went  to  the  window  and  tried  to  open  it,  but 
the  fastening  would  not  yield,  and  at  last  I  was 
obliged  to  give  up  the  attempt  in  despair.  I  could 
hear  the  wail  of  wind  and  rain  outside  the  closed  panes, 
and  I  consoled  myself  with  the  drowsy  reflection  that, 
after  all,  perhaps  things  might  be  best  as  they  were. 

A  moment  more  and  I  was  in  bed  in  the  dark,  for- 
getful of  the  precaution  I  had  taken  the  night  before 
against  supernatural  marauders. 

"A  long,  sweet,  dreamless  sleep!"  I  repeated  to  my- 
self, as  I  closed  my  eyes.  *'That  is  what  one  might 
say  of  death." 

It  was  my  last  waking  thought,  for  I  had  hardly 
drawn  breath  before  I  was  fathoms  deep  in  slumber. 
******* 

How  long  I  had  slept  I  do  not  know,  but  I  was 
wrenched  awake  with  a  feeling  as  if  my  nerves  had 
been  torn  and  left  quivering,  bleeding. 

It  was  a  sensation  poignant  as  the  parting  of  soul 
and  body  while  it  lasted.  My  brain  seemed  to  be 
whirling  on  a  merry-go-round ;  I  could  feel  the  wheels, 
and  see  them. 

For  a  moment  I  lay  still,  panting,  and  I  do  not 
think  that  I  even  knew  who  I  was;  I  was  conscious 
only  of  the  thing  called  "I,"  which  felt  bruised  and 


282  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

battered.  So  the  whirligig  went  on ;  then,  as  it  slowed, 
I  began  to  remember  that  I  was  Consuelo  Brand.  I 
had  run  away  from  home — no,  not  from  home,  but 
from  happiness.  I  was  at  an  old  house  in  Dorset- 
shire— somebody's  secretary.  Whose?  Oh,  a  blind 
man's!  His  name  was  Raynes,  or  Raynor,  or  some- 
thing like  that.  I  was  very  miserable — the  most  mis- 
erable girl  in  all  the  world !  Oh,  why  hadn't  I  stayed 
asleep  and  forgotten  it  for  awhile? 

Yes,  why  hadn't  I  stayed  asleep?  What  had  waked 
me?  That  something  had — something  outside  myself 
— I  grew  more  and  more  sure  as  I  came  slowly,  pain- 
fully, to  myself.  My  brain  had  never  felt  this  before, 
except  once.  I  remembered  that  time  well,  for  the 
same  physical  sensations  brought  it  vividly  back. 

It  was  after  my  dear  mother's  sudden  death.  The 
shock  had  been  almost  too  much  for  me,  child  as  I 
was;  and,  besides,  I  had  been  feeling  ill  in  the  train, 
while  I  thought  she  Oinly  slept — before  I  knew  that 
she  would  never  open  her  eyes  on  earth  again.  I 
had  been  almost  mad  with  grief  at  the  loss  of  her — 
my  only  one — and  for  several  nights  I  had  not  been 
able  to  sleep,  not  even  to  lose  the  consciousness  of 
grief  for  a  single  moment. 

Then  the  doctor  had  given  me  a  preparation  of  lau- 
danum. At  first  I  had  fallen  dead  asleep,  but  some 
sound  in  the  street  had  waked  me,  and  I  had  gone 
wellnigh  out  of  my  mind. 

Instead  of  dozing  once  more,  the  drug  had  worked 
like  madness  in  my  brain.  I  was  wide,  staring  awake, 
with  a  horrible,  unnatural  wakefulness,  that  had  ap- 


A  GLASS  OF  GREEN  CHARTREUSE     283 

peared  to  double  the  keenness  of  every  sensation  until 
it  became  an  agony.  I  must  never  take  laudanum 
again,  the  doctor  had  pronounced,  when  he  had  been 
called  in,  for  it  was  evident  that  it  affected  me 
strangely,  exciting  instead  of  calming  my  nerves,  after 
I  had  slept  off  the  first  heaviness  in  a  few  moments 
of  stupor. 

The  case  had  struck  him  as  being  rather  remarkable, 
and  he  had  told  me,  in  the  hope  of  turning  my  atten- 
tion for  a  little  from  the  one  subject  on  which  I 
brooded,  that  he  had  written  it  down,  and  was  send- 
ing the  account  to  a  medical  magazine,  where  I  might 
see  it  if  it  would  interest  me. 

Now  history  repeated  itself  in  my  throbbing  brain. 
As  I  had  felt  on  that  night,  more  than  five  years  ago, 
I  felt  to-night. 

Oh,  how  horrible  even^thing  seemed  in  the  darkness 
that  almost  choked  me!  All  I  had  suffered  during 
the  past  week  came  over  me  in  waves;  I  was  over- 
whelmed with  the  crushing  weight  of  my  own  agony. 
The  great  love  I  had  felt  for  George  Seaforth,  and 
the  bitterness  which  had  taken  its  place,  were  like  two 
spirits  that  had  brooded  above  me,  reminding  me  in 
whispered  accents  of  my  intolerable  loss — the  hopeless- 
ness of  all  my  future. 

"It  won't  be  like  this  when  morning  comes,"  I  tried 
to  think.  "Things  are  always  more  terrible  in  the 
dead  of  night.     You  must  bear  it  now,  and " 

The  last  words  w^ere  choked  back.  There  was  a 
sound  of  something  moving  in  the  room.  I  knew  now 
what  had  waked  me.     It  had  been  such  a  sound  as 


284  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

this — stealthy,  slow,  soft,  yet  unmistakable — a  sound 
of  rubbing. 

My  heart  stood  still — not  figuratively,  for  I  believe 
that  for  a  long,  long  second  it  did  stop  beating. 

The  Thing  had  come.  It  was  in  the  room  with  me. 
But  to  save  my  life,  to  save  my  very  soul,  I  could  not 
have  moved,  or  uttered  the  faintest  moan. 

I  heard  the  Thing — a  hand  rubbing,  rubbing  along  a 
surface  that  was  smooth ;  I  heard  my  heart  w^hen,  with 
a  great  bound,  it  began  to  beat  again — thump,  thump 
— like  a  hammer  against  my  side. 

"It  will  kill  me,"  I  said  to  myself.  "I  shall  die 
hearing  it,  though  it  doesn't  come  any  nearer.  My 
heart  will  stop  again,  and  that  will  be — the  end." 

A  little  while  ago  I  had  believed  that  I  wanted  to 
die;  that  death  would  be  sweet,  since  youth  and  the 
joy  of  life  were  over  for  me.  But  I  did  not  wish 
to  die  now — not  like  this.    Oh,  Heaven,  not  like  this! 

All  my  being  concentrated  in  the  act  of  listening; 
I  became  an  Ear.  The  sound  which  I  had  first  heard 
continued.  It  was  like  a  hand  rubbing  up  and  down 
on  a  surface  of  wood.  After  a  moment  it  ceased,  and 
the  stealthy  noise  of  a  cautiously-opening  door  fol- 
lowed. I  had  a  sensation  of  prickling  at  the  roots  of 
my  hair. 

To-night  my  bedroom  door  was  locked,  and  the  key 
had  been  left  in.  I  remembered  that,  and  I  had  a 
dim  impression  that  I  had  sleepily  shot  the  bolt  as 
well.  The  door  might  be  broken,  but  no  human  being 
could  in  any  other  way  open  it  from  the  other  side. 

Yet  there  was  no  other  door,  save  only  that  of  the 


A  GLASS  OF  GREEN  CHARTREUSE     285 

cedar-lined  wardrobe,  and  it  was  certain  that  nobody 
had  been  concealed  there,  for  I  had  happened  to  hang 
up  my  gown  on  one  of  the  hooks  before  I  went  to 
bed. 

Where  did  the  noise  come  from  ?  I  lost  all  sense  of 
direction,  and  tried  in  vain  to  remember  in  the  dark- 
ness how  the  bed  stood  in  connection  with  the  other 
furniture  of  the  room.  My  recollections  of  the  place 
had  turned  to  chaos,  and  all  the  while  I  could  hear 
a  soft  sound  of  breathing. 

Then,  suddenly  a  board  in  the  old  floor  creaked 
under  a  footstep.  My  heart  leaped  until  the  bound- 
ing blood  in  my  veins  well-night  choked  me ;  but  it  was 
intensest  relief  I  felt,  not  added  fear.  Surely  a  ma- 
terial board  would  not  groan  under  the  light,  imma- 
terial weight  of  a  spirit  foot. 

The  presence  in  my  room  must  be  human,  like 
myself.  How  it  had  come  there  I  could  not  guess, 
but  the  conviction  held ;  and  as  my  horror  of  the  super- 
natural faded,  my  mind  w^orked  quickly.  I  thought 
of  the  housekeeper,  with  her  false  hair  and  blinking 
eyes.  Perhaps  she  had  only  told  me  the  ghostly  stories 
to  prepare  the  way  for  this  episode.  She  had  some 
sly  reason  for  wishing  to  enter  my  room  in  the  night, 
and  she  hoped,  if  by  chance  I  lay  awake,  to  be  taken 
for  a  ghost.  I  hoped  desperately  that  the  breathing, 
the  footsteps,  meant  only  Mrs.  Walsh,  for  I  was  not 
afraid  of  her. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

A   FLASH    OF    LIGHT   ON    A   WHITE    HAND 

After  the  board  creaked  all  was  still  for  a  long 
moment.  Somebody  was  waiting,  listening  to  find  out 
if  the  noise  had  roused  the  sleeper. 

My  dry  lips  half  formed  the  words,  "Who  is 
there?"  but  though  a  faint  flush  of  returning  life  and 
courage  warmed  my  veins,  I  was  still  almost  power- 
less, after  the  shock  I  had  received.  Besides,  I  felt 
dimly  that  silence  was  safer;  and  perhaps  even  if  I 
could  have  uttered  the  words  I  should  have  refrained. 

My  suspense  was  soon  broken.  Out  of  the  darkness 
a  ray  of  light  was  born — a  slim,  straight,  yellow  ray 
that  grew  as  it  travelled,  while  at  the  same  time  a 
just  perceptible  odour  of  hot  metal  and  burning  oil 
reached  my  nostrils. 

I  had  never  seen  a  dark  lantern,  but  instinct  told 
me  that  I  watched  the  working  of  some  such  thing 
now.    And  ghosts  did  not  carry  dark  lanterns. 

The  light  was  moving  toward  the  bed.  A  second 
or  two  more  and  it  would  find  my  face.  Those  eyes 
which  I  could  not  see,  would  fain  know  whether  mine 
were  open,  staring  through  the  darkness.  When  they 
saw  that  I  was  awake — what  then? 

What  if  it  were  not  the  housekeeper  paying  a  visit 
286 


A  FLASH  OF  LIGHT  ON  A  HAND     287 

of  curiosity,  but  a  thief,  who  would  stab  me  rather 
than  I  should  have  the  chance  of  raising  an  alarm  ? 

By  a  strong  effort  I  closed  my  lids.  I  shall  never 
forget  how  long  they  were  in  meeting,  how  stiff  they 
felt. 

The  light  had  caught  my  face  now.  It  filtered  be- 
neath my  lowered  lashes,  and  I  felt  that,  despite  my 
determination  to  lie  passive,  they  flickered  nervously. 

My  sensitive  hearing  could  detect  a  faint  rustling 
as  the  bed-covering  rose  and  fell  over  my  wildly-beat- 
ing heart. 

I  strove  to  make  my  breathing  regular  and  natural 
as  that  of  a  peaceful  sleeper,  but  it  whistled  in  my 
own  ears,  and  it  seemed  that  I  could  not  possibly  de- 
ceive other  ears,  sharpened  by  suspicion,  as  mine  by 
fear. 

But,  after  remaining  stationary  for  a  time  that  ap- 
peared interminable  to  me,  the  light  moved  away,  the 
soft  pad,  pad  of  slippered  feet  began  once  more.  As- 
sured that  I  slept,  perhaps  their  ow^ner  was  not  quite 
as  cautious  as  before. 

Stiflfly  again,  I  opened  my  eyes,  with  something  like 
the  mechanical  jerk  of  a  French  doll's.  Oddly,  I 
thought  of  the  simile,  even  in  that  moment  of  sus- 
pense and  fear. 

The  darkness  was  not  as  intense  as  it  had  been, 
for  the  lantern  had  not  closed,  but  was  still  moving 
like  a  will-o'the-wisp  in  a  marsh  at  night.  It  had 
gone  further  away  from  the  bed  now,  and  while  I 
lay  waiting  for  the  thing  that  should  happen  next, 
a  hand  came  under  the  yellow  ray — a  long,  pale  hand 


c88  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

opening  the  drawer  of  my  dressing-table.  My  heart 
grew  sick,  for  it  was  the  hand  of  my  blind  employer, 
Mr.  Raynor.  If  he  had  been  really  blind,  he  would 
not  have  needed  a  lantern  to  light  him  on  his  secret 
expedition.  It  had  been  a  lie,  then — a  monstrous  fraud 
from  beginning  to  end — built  up  with  deadly  purpose. 
Mr.  Raynor  was  not  blind!  Even  at  this  instant.  I 
knew  that  his  eyes  were  helping  his  hands  in  a  search 
for  something  of  mine  that  he  wished  to  see.  Either 
the  man  was  mad,  and  had  advertised  for  a  secretary 
because  of  some  morbid  motive  which  I  could  not 
fathom,  or  else 

The  thought  of  that  something  else  chilled  the  blood 
that  rushed  so  wildly  through  my  veins. 

"A  long,  sweet,  dreamless  sleep!"  I  could  hear  Mr. 
Raynor's  strangely-muffled  voice  murmuring  the  wish 
as  he  pressed  me  to  drink  the  green  chartreuse.  It 
was  easy  to  find  an  inner  meaning  in  that  wish  now 
■ — easy  to  see  why  he  had  urged  me  to  drink  the  liqueur, 
refusing  to  accept  a  denial.  No  wonder  I  had  waked 
with  the  same  horrible  sensations  which  had  racked  my 
brain  after  taking  that  dose  of  laudanum  years  ago.  A 
few  drops  of  the  drug  at  the  bottom  of  the  ruby- 
coloured  glass  had  given  the  curious  bitter  "undertone" 
I  had  detected,  unsuspiciously  attributing  it  to  some 
disagreeable  quality  in  an  unfamiliar  drink. 

With  most  people  the  small  dose  would  have  in- 
duced a  sound  sleep,  not  to  be  broken  by  ordinary 
noises;  and  the  man  who  had  administered  it  could 
not  possibly  have  guessed  that  I  should  be  a  somewhat 
remarkable  exception  to  the  rule.     Had  he  meant  to 


A  FLASH  OF  LIGHT  ON  A  HAND      289 

kill  me,  I  wondered,  or  would  he  have  been  satisfied 
to  have  me  to  sleep  while  he  explored  my  room  for  the 
thing  which  he  had  gone  to  such  lengths  in  his  desire 
to  obtain?  I  could  not  answer  this  question,  but  I 
was  sure  that,  if  my  employer  at  Arris  Hall  were  the 
person  I  began  to  take  him  for,  he  would  not  hesitate 
to  remove  any  obstacle  which  threatened  his  success. 

He,  who  had  so  far  carried  out  his  plans  with  such 
skill,  would  be  clever  enough  to  account  for  my  death, 
if  it  were  necessary  that  I  should  die,  without  drawing 
suspicion  upon  himself.  Mr.  Raynor,  a  helpless  blind 
man,  w^ould  not  easily  be  suspected  of  a  crime,  com- 
mitted seemingly  without  a  motive.  It  would  be 
shown  that  I  had  killed  myself;  a  letter  would  be 
found,  perhaps,  with  a  confession.  I  could  almost  see 
that  letter  as  my  mind  projected  itself  into  the  future 
— a  future  in  which  I  as  a  living,  breathing,  human 
being  might  have  no  part. 

As  my  thoughts  travelled,  the  light  moved  slowly, 
purposefully  about  the  room.  By  the  stealthy  sounds 
I  heard,  I  judged  that  every  drawer  had  been  opened 
and  thoroughly  searched.  My  clothing,  folded  on  a 
chair,  was  examined ;  I  could  guess  why  now.  The  man 
hoped  to  find  certain  papers,  which  I  might  have  sewn 
Into  one  of  my  garments.  Once  I  opened  my  eyes 
far  enough  to  see  that  the  pocket  of  my  black  dress, 
taken  from  the  cedar  wardrobe  where  I  had  hung  it 
up,  was  being  turned  wrong  side  out. 

I  shuddered  with  horror  as  instinct  told  me  that 
presently  Mr.  Raynor — who  was  Mr.  Wynnstay  as 
well — would  come  creeping  cautiously  to  the  bed,  and 


290  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

feel  for  what  he  wanted  under  the  pillow.  He  would 
look  elsewhere  first,  it  was  probable,  for  there  would 
be  the  risk  of  arousing  me,  which  he  would  doubtless  be 
glad  to  avoid;  but  in  the  end  he  would  come.  When 
that  happened,  I  could  no  longer  trust  myself  to 
simulate  sleep.  He  must  discover  that  I  was  awake, 
that  I  had  been  watching  him,  and  then — I  dared  not 
think  what  he  would  be  likely  to  do  then. 

I  waited  for  the  dreaded  moment  to  come.  I  ex- 
perienced a  strange  clarity  of  mental  vision,  looking 
back  into  the  past.  I  was  sure  now,  when  it  was 
too  late  to  escape  the  consequences  of  credulity — more 
sure  than  I  had  been  when  I  met  those  eyes  that  did 
not  match,  in  the  convex  mirror — that  I  had  not  seen 
Mr.  Wynnstay  for  the  first  time  at  Holland  Park 
Mansions.  He  had  been  the  kind  old  clergyman  in 
the  train  long  ago,  who  lent  papers  to  my  mother  and 
me. 

He  had  been  as  skilful,  as  calculating  of  future  con- 
sequences, then  as  he  had  shown  himself  of  late.  I 
believed  now  that  he  had  somehow  been  an  active 
agent  in  my  mother's  death.  Perhaps  he  had  not  meant 
to  do  murder,  but  he  had  determined  to  obtain  any 
papers  which  she  might  have  with  her,  and  probably 
had  obtained  the  letter  which  had  excited  her  before 
starting  on  our  journey  that  morning,  as  certainly  it 
had  disappeared.  How  he  had  contrived  to  administer 
any  drug  or  poison,  I  could  not  tell,  but  I  believed 
that  he  had  done  so,  and  my  mother,  who  suffered  from 
heart  disease,  had  readily  fallen  a  victim  to  it. 

That  night  at  Holland  Park  Mansions,  when  I  had 


A  FLASH  OF  LIGHT  ON  A  HAND      291 

walked  into  his  net,  he  had  made  another  attempt 
to  possess  himself  of  the  papers  which  he  fancied  I 
might  carry  about  my  person.  Or,  perhaps,  failing 
that,  he  would  have  put  me  out  of  the  way  of  those 
he  served.  I  should  never  be  sure  what  had  been  in 
his  mind  that  night ;  but  soon  I  should  know  what  was 
liis  ultimate  purpose  now.  For  since  then  I  had  sealed 
my  own  fate,  and  he  had  gone  too  far  to  let  himself 
fail  at  last. 

The  light  that  guided  me  to  these  deductions  showed 
me  that  I  owed  my  present  position  to  the  deception 
I  had  practised  upon  Diana  Dunbar  at  Southwood 
Park.  I  had  told  her  then  that  I  had  found  the  secret 
drawer  of  the  Chippendale  escritoire,  and  that  hence- 
forth the  papers  I  had  discovered  there  should  never 
leave  me. 

I  guessed  now  that  Mr.  Wynnstay  had  been  with 
her  that  night,  waiting  in  the  carriage  which  had 
brought  her  to  Southwood,  no  doubt.  She  had  given 
him  a  rapid  account  of  all  that  passed  between 
us,  adding  that,  if  I  discovered  her  version  of  the 
Seaforth  story  to  be  true,  I  would  leave  Sir  George's 
house  —  according  to  my  own  threat  —  without 
delay. 

She,  possibly,  had  gone  back  to  the  house  where  she 
and  Lady  Dunbar  had  been  staying,  while  the  man 
had  deemed  it  worth  his  while  to  wait  upon  my  move- 
ments. 

No  small,  lurking  creature  of  the  night  had  made  the 
rustling  I  had  heard  in  the  shrubbery  when  I  had 
stolen   out  of  the  house  an  hour  later.     My  enemy 


292  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

had  been  watching,  taking  it  for  granted  that  I  would 
keep  my  word ;  and  he  had  not  been  disappointed. 

Others  had  failed,  or  had  not  cared,  to  find  me. 
But  he  had  not  failed;  while  I  fancied  myself  safe 
from  pursuit,  sadly  congratulating  m3'self  on  skilfully 
covering  my  tracks,  he  had  followed.  He  had  known 
from  the  first  where  I  had  gone,  and  had  laid  his  plans 
accordingly. 

Once  assured  that  I  was  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
The  Pines,  waiting  for  Miss  Smith's  return,  he  would 
have  had  time  to  look  for  a  house  not  too  far  away, 
and  take  it.  Mr.  Raynor's  haste  to  secure  Arrlsh  Hall 
and  move  In  was  fully  explained  now. 

Mr.  Raynor  had  chosen  to  be  blind  because  a  green 
shade  of  goodly  dimensions,  like  charity,  covered  a 
multitude  of  sins  and  obscured  his  features.  Mr.  Ray- 
nor sat  always  in  twilight,  to  render  assurance  doubly 
sure,  unwilling  to  test  his  grizzled  disguise  too  severely. 
He  had  shown  himself  clever  at  disguise  a  few  years 
ago,  but  would  not  trust  his  luck  too  much. 

Mr.  Raynor  had  talked  with  a  muffled  voice  lest  I 
should  remem.ber  Mr.  Wynnstay's  accents;  and  Mr, 
Raynor's  hands  had  been  pallid  because  those  of  Mr. 
Wynnstay,  whose  shape  could  not  be  changed,  had  been 
of  a  more  natural,  healthy  tint. 

How  I  had  walked  Into  the  trap  of  the  advertise- 
ment, meant  solely  to  attract  me,  though  I  had  mod- 
estly feared  to  lose  the  chance  In  favour  of  someone 
worthier!  I  wondered  at  my  own  stupidity,  telling 
myself  fiercely  that  It  was  I  who  had  been  blind,  not 
my  employer;  but  then  I  reflected  that  the  plot  had 


A  FLASH  OF  LIGHT  ON  A  HAND      293 

been  clever  enough  to  deceive  one  more  v^^orldly-wlse 
than  L 

There  had  been  every  reason  w^hy  I  should  believe 
the  new  master  of  Arrish  Hall  genuine,  none  why  I 
should  self-consciously  attribute  his  presence  in  Dor- 
setshire, his  advertisement,  his  preference  for  my  voice 
above  other  applicants',  to  a  deep-laid  scheme  against 
my  liberty,  perhaps  my  life. 

One  small  flash  of  insight  Into  the  past  and  Its 
connection  with  the  present  led  up  to  another,  and 
at  the  end  of  five  minutes — it  could  scarcely  have  been 
more — I  felt  that  I  held  all  but  a  complete  chain  In 
my  hands,  joined  by  a  series  of  links,  only  one  missing 
here  and  there. 

I  could  almost  have  wished  that  the  chain  had  not 
been  so  complete,  for  it  was  dreadful  to  lie  there, 
piecing  It  together,  link  by  link,  realizing  more  and 
more  how  slowly,  yet  relentlessly,  the  enemy's  hand 
had  closed  upon  me,  until  I  was  completely  In  his 
power.  He  could  do  with  me  as  he  liked.  No  one 
would  ever  know  the  truth. 

Now  he  was  standing  nearer,  still  cautiously,  lest  I 
should  wake,  the  slippered  feet  treading  as  softly  as 
those  of  a  cat.  The  moment  I  had  feared  was 
coming. 

I  tried  to  brace  myself,  to  control  the  sudden  trem- 
bling that  shook  me  from  head  to  foot.  But  It  was 
useless.  As  soon  as  the  man  bent  over  me,  he  would 
know  that  I  was  awake. 

He  had  approached  within  a  yard  of  the  bed,  when 
I  felt  the  light  of  the  lantern  he  held  creeping  over 


994  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

my  body,  up  towards  my  face.  Instantly  I  closed  my 
eyes,  which  had  been  half  open. 

The  light  reached  them,  then — very  suddenly — dis- 
appeared. I  could  not  resist  peeping  again,  and  to 
my  astonishment  I  saw  that,  instead  of  coming  closer 
to  the  bed,  the  yellow  ray  which  told  of  the  presence 
was  moving  tow^ards  the  door  which  led  into  the  ad- 
joining sitting-room.  Another  second  or  tw^o,  and  I 
heard  the  key  softly  turning  in  the  lock.  Mr.  Wynn- 
stay-Raynor  had  changed  his  mind,  and  was  going  to 
search  there  before  running  the  final  risk  of  waking 
me  up. 

I  remembered  now^  that  I  had  left  my  small  travel- 
ling-bag in  the  next  room;  maybe  he  had  looked  for 
it,  and,  not  finding  it  in  the  bedroom,  wished  to  make 
sure  that  the  papers  he  wanted  were  not  hidden  away 
in  some  inner  compartment  of  the  bag. 

Now,  if  ever,  I  was  to  have  my  one  chance  of  escape. 
I  thought  of  the  window^  and  despairingly  recalled  the 
fact  that  it  had  been  fastened  too  tightly  for  me  to 
move  the  sash,  when  I  had  tried.  There  was  no  hope 
there.  Yet,  somehow,  this  man  had  stolen  into  my 
room,  though  the  one  door  had  been  locked  until  he 
unlocked  it  an  instant  ago.  If  I  could  find  the  way 
out  before  he  returned  disappointed  from  his  quest  in 
the  sitting-room,  I  might  go  as  he  had  come. 

Without  waiting  to  think  the  matter  over,  I  sprang 
from  the  bed,  and  groped  along  the  wall,  in  the  dark- 
ness. Suddenly  and  unexpectedly — for  its  position  was 
changed — my  hand  touched  the  great  cedar-lined 
w^ardrobe.    It  no  longer  stood  close  against  the  wall, 


A  FLASH  OF  LIGHT  ON  A  HAND     295 

but  had  been  pushed,  at  one  corner,  a  foot  or  two 
farther  out  than  before. 

In  the  fraction  of  a  second  I  had  fathomed  the 
mystery  of  the  man's  intrusion.  The  enormous  piece 
of  furniture  had  been  imported  to  my  room  for  the 
express  purpose  of  concealing  a  door  behind  it. 
Through  that  door  Mr.  Wynnstay  had  come;  through 
that  door  I  might  hope  even  now  to  escape. 

I  forced  my  body  into  the  aperture  between  the 
wardrobe  and  the  wall.  Yes,  there  was  the  door,  and 
it  was  open.  What  lay  beyond  I  did  not  know,  for 
all  was  darkness  on  the  other  side;  but  I 
did  not  pause  for  that.  I  slipped  through  and  shut 
the  door.  My  fingers  felt  for  a  key  in  the  lock,  and 
turned  it,  though  they  trembled. 

As  I  drew  back  my  hand  and  stood  hesitating  in  the 
dark,  not  knowing  which  way  to  turn,  I  heard  the 
creaking  of  a  board.  It  was  on  the  other  side  of  the 
door  I  had  just  closed,  in  the  room  I  had  left.  Mr. 
Wynnstay  had  returned  to  the  bedroom,  and  by  this 
time  he  knew  that  I  was  gone — ^how  I  had  gone ! 

My  only  hope  now  lay  in  eluding  him  before  he 
could  rush  out  the  other  way,  through  my  sitting-room, 
and  head  me  off  in  this  mj^sterious  region,  which  he 
doubtless  knew  well,  I  not  at  all. 

Stifling  a  cry  that  rose  to  my  lips,  I  ran  forward, 
with  my  hands  outstretched,  lest  I  should  blunder 
against  some  object  in  my  path.  But  the  place  seemed 
empty,  for  I  touched  nothing,  and  at  last,  more  by 
luck  than  skill,  I  reached  a  door.  To  my  joy,  it  opened, 
«fld  I  came  out  into  a  room  sparsely  furnished,  and 


296  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

faintly  lighted  by  a  jet  of  gas.  There  was  a  bed 
which  had  not  been  slept  in ;  under  the  shaded  gas- 
jet,  a  table,  where  lay  a  mass  of  streaked,  black-and- 
white  hair,  and  the  green  shade  which  blind  Mr.  Ray- 
nor  had  worn  over  his  eyes.  These  things  I  saw  in 
one  flashing  glance,  almost  unconsciously,  for  I  thought 
only  of  escape. 

I  had  no  means  of  knowing  where  the  next  door 
might  lead  me,  in  this  intricate  old  house;  only  too 
likely  that  I  might  stumble  upon  the  enemy  lying  in 
wait  to  spring  upon  me  at  the  moment  when  I  hoped 
for  safety.  But  I  darted  through  a  door  opposite  the 
one  by  which  I  had  come  in,  and  just  outside  struck 
against  a  table. 

Something  fell  from  it  as  I  rushed  past.  Involun- 
tarily my  hand  went  out  to  save  it  and  prevent  a 
crash.  I  touched  and  grasped  a  candle-stick,  which 
must  have  stood  upon  the  table  by  the  door.  A  candle 
had  fallen  half  out,  but  I  thrust  it  back  into  place, 
and,  groping,  found  the  box  of  matches  which  had 
lain  beside  it.  Here,  at  last,  w^as  one  piece  of  good 
fortune ! 

I  struck  a  match,  w^hich  flickered  and  went  out. 
Another,  which  flared  up  as  I  held  it  to  the  charred 
wick  of  the  candle.  As  an  answering  flame  sputtered 
and  rose  into  a  pale  star  of  light,  the  darkness  of  the 
distance  was  suddenly  broken. 

With  a  great  start  I  looked  up.  At  the  end  of 
a  long  passage  I  saw^  a  man's  figure  in  a  long  dressing- 
gown,  and  a  lantern,  wide  open  now,  throwing  a  strong 
light  ahead. 


A  FLASH  OF  LIGHT  ON  A  HAND     297 

For  a  moment  I  stood  staring,  fascinated,  powerless 
to  move.  With  great  springing  strides,  noiseless  as  a 
panther's,  save  when  a  loose  board  creaked  under  the 
slippered  feet,  he  came  hurrying,  and  it  was  only  when 
he  was  close  upon  me  that  I  shook  myself  free  from 
the  stupor.  With  a  loud  scream,  I  flung  the  heavy 
candlestick  full  into  his  face,  and,  turning,  ran  from 
him  down  the  passage. 

I  heard  the  candlestick  crash  on  the  bare  floor; 
I  heard  him  stumble ;  and  I  heard  the  curse  he  ut- 
tered. 

But  In  an  Instant  I  knew  that  he  was  coming  after 
me.  Still  I  ran,  going  I  knew  not  where,  hurrying 
hither  and  thither  in  the  dark,  like  a  leaf  blown 
by  the  storm;  and  always  my  own  wild  shrieks  rang 
in  my  ears  as  If  they  had  been  uttered  by  someone 
else. 

Before  I  guessed  that  I  had  reached  them  I  was 
on  the  stairs.  I  had  been  going  too  fast  to  save  myself, 
and,  though  I  caught  by  instinct  at  the  balusters,  I 
pitched  down,  head  foremost. 

There  was  a  noise  below,  which  went  on  and  on 
as  I  fell,  and  seemed  to  be  a  part  of  the  fall,  as 
were  the  stars  that  rained  In  a  cataract  before  my 
eyes  while  my  head  struck,  again  and  again;  yet  I 
knew  that  It  was  really  not  part  of  it,  but  separate 
— quite  separate,  and  far  away. 

"Thank  God  Fm  to  die  like  this,  not  by  his  hands!" 
I  thought,  in  the  confusion  of  my  senses. 

And  then,  with  a  great  thud,  all  the  stars  went  out. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

AFTERWARDS 

"Well,  and  how  is  she  now?"  asked  a  brisk  voice. 

"Quieter  since  midnight — much  quieter,"  answered 
another. 

"And  he — is  he  resting?" 

"I  persuaded  him  to  go  away,  about  half  an  hour 
ago,  for  a  nap.  He's  a  wreck,  poor  fellow!  but  so 
happy  to  see  her  better.  It's  quite  pitiful.  If  she  lives, 
it  will  be  he  who  saved  her — after  you,  of  course, 
doctor." 

"Not  after  me,  Miss  Smith.  He  has  done  every- 
thing, I  very  little." 

Somebody  lay  listening  to  the  words.  I  wondered 
dimly  v>^ho  the  somebody  was  that  seemed  to  hear  with 
my  ears.  I  wondered,  too,  whose  life  had  been  saved, 
and  who  had  saved  it,  and  who  these  people  were 
that  talked  about  it.  The  first  voice  was  a  man's, 
the  other  a  woman's.  Someone  had  called  someone 
else  "Miss  Smith." 

I  had  known  a  Miss  Smith  in  another  world,  long, 
long  ago,  before  I  had  come  to  live  in  a  place  where 
everybody's  head  always  ached,  and  noises  roared  in 
their  ears,  and  red  and  black  clouds  stitched  with  glit- 
tering streaks  of  light  hung  before  their  eyes. 
298 


AFTERWARDS  299 

I  wanted  to  remember  something  about  the  old  times 
when  I  had  known  Miss  Smith,  for  it  appeared  vaguely 
that  many  important  matters  were  connected  with  that 
name.  But  trying  to  remember  hurt  my  head,  and 
wheels  began  whirring  round  in  my  brain,  though 
the  red  and  black  clouds  were  gone. 

Because  it  hurt  to  remember,  tears  gathered  thickly 
in  my  eyes — or  somebody's  eyes  that  were  not  exactly 
mine,  but  might  have  been  once — and  as  they  fell  they 
were  burning  hot.  Suddenly  I  knew  that  they  had 
turned  to  molten  iron,  and  were  scarring  my  cheeks 
as  they  ran  down,  making  great  furrows  in  the  flesh. 

There  was  only  one  person  in  the  world  who  could 
stop  them  from  falling,  for  he  could  do  anything.  The 
person  had  no  name,  but  his  hands  were  strong  as  steel ; 
I  could  not  rest  for  a  moment  without  him.  Why 
didn't  he  come?  How  cruel  of  him  to  leave  me  alone 
to  sufEer  like  this,  when  he  knew  very  well  that  he 
was  the  only  one  in  this  new,  horrible  world  who 
could  help  me! 

''Where  is  he?  where  is  he?"  somebody  was  moan- 
ing. "Oh,  I  shall  die  if  he  doesn't  come  now — now 
— now ! 

Somebody's  voice  sounded  oddly  weak  and  broken. 
It  was  pitiful;  it  made  me  cry  a  great  deal  more. 

"Oh,  why  doesn't  he  come?" 

"Here  I  am,  my  own,"  said  a  voice,  that  made  the 
hot  iron  stop  falling  over  my  face,  as  if  it  had  been 
checked  by  magic.  "Here  I  am;  I  won't  leave  you 
again." 

I  put  out  my  arms,  and  dimly  I   could  see  that 


300  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

they  were  thin  h'ttle  things,  which  waved  feebly,  quite 
different  from  what  they  had  been  when  I  lived  in 
the  world.  Other  arms,  that  were  firm  and  strong, 
slipped  under  my  shoulders,  and  I  nestled  against 
something  better  than  the  pillow,  far  more  restful, 
though  I  could  not  understand  why,  because  it  kept 
beating,  beating,  just  like  a  bird  which  struggled  to 
escape  from  a  hand  that  held  it. 

As  I  lay  I  could  look  up  at  a  haggard  face.  It 
was  brownish-white,  with  hollows  in  its  cheeks,  and 
bluish  marks  under  its  eyes,  that  were  sunken  into 
hollows.  Its  chin  was  all  dark  and  rough  with  a 
short  stubbly  beard,  which  had  a  dent,  or  a  dimple, 
or  something  in  the  middle,  like  a  blacker  shadow  than 
the  rest;  and  suddenly  this  struck  me  as  very  funny. 
I  laughed,  and  laughed,  foolishly. 

"How  queer  you  look!"  I  babbled.  "What  a  face! 
You're  a  fright — a  fright!  Did  you  know  that?  But 
I  like  you.  Who  are  you?  I  keep  wondering,  and  it 
makes  my  head  ache  so." 

"Only  somebody  who  loves  you  dearly,  darling," 
said  the  voice  that  belonged  to  the  haggard  face.  It 
was  a  very  kind,  soothing  voice,  though  it  shook  a  little. 

"I  don't  see  what's  to  become  of  you,  if  this  is  to 
go  on,"  another  thinner  voice  whispered,  almost  fret- 
fully. "You  haven't  had  six  hours'  sleep  in  a  fortnight. 
It's  more  than  human  nature  can  stand.  Just  as 
she's  getting  a  little  better,  you'll  break  down,  and 
then " 

"No,  I  shan't  break  down,"  said  the  face's  voice. 
"Don't  you  know  it's  life  for  me  to  think  that  she 


AFTERWARDS  301 

needs  me,  that  she  calls  for  me  when  I  leave  her  side? 
I  couldn't  break  down  while  she  wants  me." 

"I  want  you,  I  want  to  know  who  you  are,"  the 
voice  which  was  partly  mine  repeated. 

One  day  I  waked  up  and  looked  all  round  a  cool, 
pleasant  room  in  a  strange  house.  I  was  in  bed, 
and  my  hands  were  very  little  and  white.  A  woman 
in  a  gray  dress  like  a  nurse's  uniform  sat  by  me  and 
waved  a  fan. 

Somebody  had  walked  away  as  I  opened  my  eyes, 
but  I  did  not  feel  enough  curiosity  to  turn  and  see 
who  it  was.  I  was  hungry,  and  demanded  things  ta 
eat. 

The  gray  woman  gave  me  soup,  which  was  rather 
nice;  and  when  I  asked  questions  afterwards,  she  said 
that  I  had  been  very  ill,  but  was  fast  getting  better 
now ;  I  was  at  a  friend's  house,  and  there  was  nothing 
to  worry  about.  If  I  were  good,  I  should  know  every- 
thing I  wanted  to  know  in  a  day  or  two. 

So  I  was  good;  and  often  I  had  soup  and  other 
things.  But  I  could  not  be  certain  how  long  it  was 
before  a  nice  ugly  old  lady  came  and  smiled  at  me 
over  the  nurse's  shoulder.  I  knew  her  at  once,  and 
said  so. 

**Why,  you're  plain  Miss  Smith!"  I  exclaimed,  and 
wondered  why  she  laughed. 

I  was  at  her  house,  it  seemed,  and  I  was  glad, 
though  I  was  rather  angry  with  her  because  she  would 
not  let  me  try  to  remember  how  I  came  there. 

Presently,  w^hen  I  was  stronger  and  had  begun  to 


302  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

sit  up,  Anne  Bryden  came,  and  often  she  sat  with 
me  for  a  long  time  quite  alone  when  the  nurse  was 
walking  or  resting,  for  I  did  not  need  much  watch- 
ing now.  Once,  when  she  thought  I  had  been  asleep, 
I  was  really  thinking. 

"Why  did  you  write  me  a  cold  letter,  Anne?"  I 
asked;  "I  can't  remember  what  it  was  about  now,  but 
it  made  me  feel  so  sad  and  lonely  the  day  I  had  it." 

To  my  surprise,  she  burst  out  crying.  ''Oh,  I've 
been  punished  enough  for  what  I  did!"  she  sobbed. 
"Can  you  ever  forgive  me?  it's  all  my  fault!" 

But  at  this  moment  the  nurse  came  in  and  scolded 
Anne  in  a  low  voice,  telling  her  she  must  have  more 
self-control.  Anne  was  not  left  alone  with  me  after 
that. 

It  seemed,  when  I  first  began  to  try,  that  I  should 
have  to  learn  how  to  walk  all  over  again,  and  my 
hair  had  been  cut  ofi  short.  I  felt  it  with  my  fingers, 
and  it  covered  my  head  in  short  rings  not  much  longer 
than  a  baby's.  It  had  been  still  shorter,  but  it  had 
begun  to  grow  ver>^  fast,  the  nurse  told  me,  and  she 
did  not  think  it  was  coming  out  any  darker;  with 
vvhich  information  she  seemed  to  consider  I  should 
be  very  pleased. 

Miss  Smith  gave  me  a  pink  silk  dressing-gown 
trimmed  with  lace.  I  must  try  to  get  some  colour  to 
match  it  in  my  cheeks,  she  said.  The  second  day 
that  I  wore  it  I  was  looking  at  some  flowers  which 
had  just  been  sent  in  (there  were  flowers  every  day, 
quantities  of  them,  "and  such  beauties,  all  out  of 
season!"  I  had  heard  the  nurse  exclaim),  when  Miss 


AFTERWARDS  3^3 

Smith  appeared  to  ask  If  I  were  well  enough  to  see 
an  old  friend.  Lady  Sophie  de  Gretton  had  come  to 
call  on  me  because  she  could  not  wait  any  longer,  and 
she  had  been  staying  at  a  hotel  near  by  for  a  week, 
hoping  to  be  given  this  opportunity, 

A  shudder  ran  through  me  from  head  to  foot,  and 
the  floodgates  of  memory  were  suddenly  burst  open; 
but  I  pressed  my  lips  together,  and  did  not  speak  for 
a  moment.  I  was  so  well  and  strong  again  now  that 
I  could  bear  the  shock,  or  I  suppose  Miss  Smith  and 
the  doctor,  talking  it  over  again  as  they  surely  had, 
would  not  have  let  Lady  Sophie  come. 

"Yes,  I  will  see  her;  I  shall  be  glad,"  I  said  at 
last,  and  the  door  opened. 

How  all  the  old  times  rushed  back,  how  the  old 
days  crowded  round  me  like  pale  ghosts,  as  the  hand- 
some, elegantly-dressed  woman  moved  silkily  in! 

She  was  very  quiet,  very  subdued  in  her  manner; 
no  doubt  she  had  had  her  instructions. 

"Poor  little  girl!"  she  said  softly,  and  patted  my 
thin  hand  as  she  sat  down  by  my  sofa.  The  nurse  and 
Miss  Smith  had  gone  out.     We  were  alone  together. 

"It  is  good  of  you  to  come,"  I  said.  "I  want  you 
to  tell  me  of  things;  will  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "They  said  I  might  answer 
any  question  you  asked,  for  you  have  been  patient,  and 
you  are  practically  well  now,  only  very  weak,  and 
they  thought  if  you  saw  me  it  might  bring  things  back 
in  a  safe  way.  They  thought,  too,  you  might  rather 
ask  me  than  most  other  people,  because  I  knew  all  the 
circumstances  from  the  beginning.    And  we  were  very 


304  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

good  friends  once;  do  say  we  are  so  still,  for  I  have 
been  very  unhappy,  and  shall  be  so  till  things  between 
us  are  as  they  were  before." 

"We  are  friends,"  I  responded;  ''It  Is  good  to  see 
you  again.  But,  you  know,  things  can  never  be  as 
they  were  before;  I  remember  everything — everything 
now.  I  have  just  got  to  live  my  life  the  best  I  can, 
as  I  am  to  get  well.  I  wonder  how  I  got  well  ?  How 
did  I  escape  from  that  awful  house,  that  awful  man? 
I  am  afraid  of  him  still;  I  have  seen  his  face  in 
dreams;  it  haunts  me  always,  and  did  even  before  I 
could  recall  where  I  had  seen  It,  what  it  meant 
to  me." 

"You  need  not  be  afraid  of  him  any  more,"  said 
Lady  Sophie;  "he  is  dead.  He  has  shot  himself.  I  sup- 
pose he  saw  that  not  only  was  the  stake  he  had  played 
for  lost,  but  that  his  life  was  hopelessly  ruined.  Per- 
haps, too,  there  was  enough  decency  left  In  his  black 
heart  to  make  him  wish  not  to  involve  his  friends  in 
his  ruin." 

"He  was  a  murderer!"  I  cried.  "I  know  that  he 
killed  my  m.other.  Perhaps  I  could  never  have  proved 
it.  But  I  feel  that  it  was  true,  nevertheless.  Oh,  the 
horror  of  that  awful  night  at  Arrlsh  Hall!  I  wonder 
I  have  not  died  of  it,  even  though  by  some  miracle, 
which  I  don't  understand  yet,  I  was  saved." 

"You  have  almost  died  of  it,  poor  child!  You  have 
had  brain  fever,  and  for  many  days  and  nights  no  one 
dreamed  that  you  could  live.  You  couldn't  have  lived 
if — If  it  had  not  been  for  one  person  who  nursed  you 
back  to  life  by  sheer  force  of  will,  It  seemed,  and  a 


AFTERWARDS  305 

tremendous  power  of  endurance  when  everyone  else's 
hope  and  strength  had  failed. 

"Ah,  yes,  Sister  Milton,  the  nurse,"  I  echoed.  ''Miss 
Smith  told  me  she  had  been  most  faithful  and  de- 
voted." 

"No  doubt,  but  I  don't  mean  Sister  Milton." 

"Who  then?     Did  Miss  Smith " 

"I  would  tell  you  if  you  hadn't  said  one  thing  a 
few  minutes  ago." 

"I  don't  understand.    What  has  that  to  do  with  it?" 

"You  said  that  nothing  could  be  as  it  had  been 
before  the  night  at  Southwood  Park.  Of  course,  I 
know  how  you  intended  me  to  take  that." 

I  felt  the  colour  stream  up  to  my  thin  white  face. 

"I  think  I  have  forgiven  him,"  I  stammered.  "Only, 
of  course,  we  can  never  meet.  When  your  ideal  is 
broken,  nothing  can  mend  it,  you  know.  Lady  Sophie. 
Sir  George  Seaforth  wasn't  the  man  I  had  thought 
him;  I  wish  you  hadn't  made  me  speak  of  him  this 
first  day  with  you,  but  I  can't  pretend  to  misunder- 
stand, and  if  you  mean  to  try  and  get  me  to  say  I 
will  let  him  come  here,  it's  useless.  I  never,  never  want 
to  see  him  again." 

"Not  even  if  it  was  he  who  saved  your  life — not 
only  once,  on  the  night  you  spoke  of,  but  a  hundred 
times  since,  almost  losing  his  own  in  doing  it  ?" 

I  stared  at  her,  aghast  and  dazed. 

"It  is  true,"  she  hurried  on.  "I  am  not  exagger- 
ating. He  ought  to  tell  you  himself,  but  he  would 
not,  I  know.  You  would  never  hear  a  word  of  all 
he  has  done  from  his  lips.     Perhaps,  if  not  he,  your 


3o6  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

friend  Anne  Bryden  ought  to  tell  you,  for  part  of  the 
story  concerns  her.  But  it  would  be  a  hard  thing  for 
her  to  confess  to  you.  She  has  already  confessed  to  me, 
and  conscience  has  punished  her  enough,  so  you  shall 
hear  the  history  of  that  night,  and  the  six  weeks  which 
have  passed  since — if  you  care." 

"Six  weeks!"  I  repeated.  "Six  weeks!  Oh  yes,  I 
do — I  do  care  to  hear !     But " 

"Don'jt  say  any  'huts'  until  I  have  finished.  I  must 
begin  before  that  night.  There's  a  great  deal  to  tell, 
and  it's  hard  to  know  how  best  to  piece  together  all 
the  bits  of  the  mosaic.  You  wrote  to  Anne  Bryden 
after  you  arrived  at  Lull,  didn't  you,  and  said  you 
thought  of  waiting  at  a  fisherman's  cottage  for  Miss 
Smith  to  come  back?" 

"Yes,"  I  said  mechanically,  in  my  suspense. 

"Well,  she  was  the  only  one  who  knew  where  you 
were.  Meanwhile,  you  can  imagine  the  state  of  mind 
George  Seaforth  was  in,  and  I  was  almost  as  bad. 
I  don't  think  I  ever  knew  George  till  then — of  what 
depths  of  feeling  he  was  capable.  I  think  even  you 
would  have  forgiven  him,  if  you  had  seen  him  as  I 
saw  him.  One  of  the  first  things  he  did,  after  he 
had  applied  for  help  to  Scotland  Yard  and  we  had 
talked  over  matters  together,  was  to  go  to  Miss  Bry- 
den, from  whom  I  thought  we  might  learn  something. 
She  had  already  got  your  letter,  the  very  day  he  saw 
her,  it  seems;  but  she  told  him  nothing." 

"She  knew  I  would  not  wish  it,"  I  defended  Anne. 

"No,  it  was  not  that.  She  has  told  me  since  why 
it  was.     George  laid  his  heart  bare  to  her,  humbling 


AFTERWARDS  3o7 

herself,  and  pleading  that  if  she  knew  anything  of 
you  she  would  tell  it.  You  would  not  listen  to  him, 
but  she  did ;  and  she  realized  that  he  had  not  been  the 
cold-blooded,  deliberate  sinner  you  had  believed  him. 
She  felt,  she  says  now,  that  if  you  had  heard  him 
speak  you  would  not  have  held  out  against  him.  Still, 
she  told  him  she  was  absolutely  ignorant  of  your  move- 
ments.    Can  you  guess  why?" 

"Not  unless  it  was,  somehow,  for  my  sake." 
*'It  was  for  her  own — her  own  selfishness.  The 
first  time  that  she  saw  George  she  admired  him  above 
all  other  men,  and  she  used  to  dwell  upon  the  thought 
of  him  in  secret,  until  it  became  a  sort  of  fascination. 
She  was  jealous  of  you,  because  you  were  beautiful 
and  could  win  his  love,  and  because  at  my  house  j^ou 
could  meet  him  every  day. 

*'She  guessed  that  he  cared  for  you.  When  he  came 
to  question  her,  she  knew  the  whole  truth  of  his  feel- 
ing, of  course,  and  she  told  herself  that  she  could  not 
give  him  up  to  you.  He  could  never  be  anything  to 
her,  but  she  could  not  bear  that  you  should  have  every- 
thing she  was  denied.  That  was  the  reason  for  her 
silence,  and  it  was  a  silence  which  nearly  cost  you 
your  life." 

"Poor  Anne!"  I  murmured.  "Poor  Anne!" 
"How  easy  it  is  for  you  to  forgive  her!  Not  that 
one  grudges  it  to  the  poor  girl,  for  she  has  bitterly 
repented,  and  done  her  best  to  make  amends.  If  she 
had  given  George  your  address  at  first,  you  would  have 
been  spared  the  horrors  at  Arrish  Hall.  She  did  not 
do  that,  but  she  had  not  a  peaceful  moment  after  she 


3o8  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

had  let  him  go.  Her  treachery  to  you  was  corroding 
her  heart :  those  are  her  own  words  about  it  to  me. 

"At  last  she  came  to  my  house  and  told  how  she 
had  sinned  in  omission.  She  gave  me  your  letter,  and 
begged  me  to  let  George  know  as  much  of  the  truth 
as  necessary.  Of  course,  I  would  not  betray  the  con- 
fession of  her  motive.  I  telegraphed  him  at  once;  he 
was  in  Devonshire,  following  up  a  misleading  clue  sug- 
gested by  the  police. 

"But  before  all  these  developments  had  come  about, 
something  else  had  happened,  which  you  must  hear 
now,  before  you  can  understand  how  serious  a  misfor- 
tune George  and  I  had  reason  to  think  your  disap- 
pearance. In  any  case,  his  grief  and  remorse  would 
have  been  terribly  hard  to  bear — anxiety  as  well;  but 
as  it  was  we  feared  a  great  danger  for  you. 

"You  had  left  the  drawers  of  the  Chippendale  desk 
scattered  over  the  floor  of  your  room — or,  rather,  as 
you  had  told  me,  Diana  Dunbar  had  left  them  so. 
When  I  called  George  to  consult  with  me  there,  after 
you  had  gone,  I  told  him  of  her  visit,  what  she  had 
said,  what  she  had  done.  You  and  he  had  had  a  talk 
about  the  man  Wynnstay;  George  knew  more  than  I 
knew  of  the  matter,  but  I  remembered  what  you  had 
told  me  of  the  escritoire. 

"We  exchanged  details  of  information,  and  agreed 
that  there  was  something  exceedingly  strange  under  the 
Dunbars'  interest  in  you,  which  they  appeared  to  share 
with  their  solicitor,  Mr.  Wynnstay.  It  was  certain 
that  Diana  had  availed  herself  of  her  privileges  as 
George's  friend  and  your  acquaintance  to  gain  access 


AFTERWARDS  309 

to  the  room  where  she  thought  the  desk  would  be,  after 
hearing  of  the  sale  from  Wynnstay. 

**George  would  not  have  touched  the  escritoire  until 
you  should  have  been  brought  back;  but  I  was  very 
much  excited,  very  Indignant  with  the  Dunbars  for 
everything,  and  I  determined  that  the  desk  should  not 
be  left  alone  and  at  the  mercy  of  their  scheming  until 
the  secret  drawer  and  the  papers  which  might  be  hid- 
den in  it  were  found.  I  am  not  a  patient  woman, 
as  you  know,  and  I  acted  without  hesitation. 

"I  did  not  wait  to  search  for  such  a  drawer,  but  I 
flung  the  escritoire  on  the  floor  before  George  could 
stop  me,  and  broke  It.  I  found  what  I  wanted,  Con- 
suelo;  and  it  was  a  discovery  worth  making." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 
"ring  out  the  old,  ring  in  the  new" 

"What  was  the  discovery  ?"  I  echoed,  with  growing 
interest. 

"Wait!"  cried  Lady  Sophie:  "that  will  come  by-and- 
by.  There  are  other  things*to  tell  first,  but  now  you 
can  guess  why  we  were  anxious  about  you.  A  motive 
was  supplied — a  motive  strong  enough  to  tempt  un- 
scrupulous ones  to  evil  things ;  and  though  your  friends 
had  not  been  able  to  trace  you,  we  feared  that  your 
enemies  might  have  been  better  Informed  from  the  first. 

"When  George  got  my  telegram  he  started  at  once 
for  Dorsetshire,  and  went  straight  to  Miss  Smith  at 
The  Pines.  It  was  about  ten  o'clock  when  he  reached 
the  house,  and  she  was  just  going  to  bed;  but  when 
he  sent  up  a  message,  she  dressed  again  and  saw  him.. 
You  were  at  Arrish  Hall,  engaged  as  secretary,  and 
had  written  In  the  afternoon  that  by  your  employer's 
permission  you  would  spend  the  following  day  with 
her. 

"There  wasn't  a  scrap  of  evidence  against  the  man 
who  called  himself  Raynor,  but  George,  whose  sus- 
picions were  ready  to  take  fire,  was  horribly  worried 
and  perplexed.  He  thought  It  possible  that  the  adver- 
tisement, of  which  Miss  Smith  told  him,  might  have 
310 


"RING  IN  THE  NEW"  311: 

been  a  plot  arranged  by  those  who  interest  it  was  to 
secure  you  and  certain  things  that  were  yours. 

''Still,  there  was  no  real  reason  to  believe  that  your 
situation  was  not  genuine,  and  he  hardly  felt  justified 
in  going  to  Arrish  Hall  at  half-past  eleven  at  night 
(it  would  be  that  or  after  by  the  time  he  could  arrive 
there,  as  he  and  Miss  Smith  had  talked  for  more  than 
an  hour),  demanding  that  you  should  come  away  with 
him. 

"The  house  would  probably  be  closed  for  the  night, 
and  the  prospect  of  waking  up  the  sleepers  and  ex- 
plaining his  errand  seemed  almost  a  hopeless  one,  espe- 
cially as  (if  all  were  well)  you  would  refuse  to  see 
him — refuse,  perhaps,  to  hear  anything  he  wished  to 
say. 

"Still,  he  could  not  rest  and  take  the  chances.  Some 
time  later  he  walked  over  to  Arrish  Hall,  found  the 
house  shut  up  and  quiet,  only  a  big  dog  barking  at 
the  intruder.  Undecided  and  miserable,  he  started  to 
walk  away,  but  he  felt  irresistibly  drawn  back,  with 
a  horrible  feeling  that  anything  might  be  happening 
in  that  lonely  house. 

"He  resolved,  finally,  to  risk  all,  and  rouse  the 
house,  rather  than  have  to  repent  his  hesitation  too 
late.  As  he  reached  the  door  he  heard  a  scream  from 
within. 

"In  another  three  minutes  he  had  broken  in  through 
one  of  the  lower  windows,  cut  and  bleeding  from  the 
shattered  glass,  beating  off  the  dog  that  clung  to  him 
and  tore  at  him  as  he  struggled  through.  Now  you 
know  how  you  were  saved.     If  you  want  more  details;> 


312  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

you  shall  hear  them  all  some  other  time;  but  don't 
speak  yet.    There's  more  to  tell. 

"Already  you  were  delirious.  George  carried  you 
to  The  Pines  in  his  arms.  When  he  would  have  given 
you  into  the  care  of  Miss  Smith,  believing  it  better 
that  he  should  be  out  of  your  sight,  you  clung  to 
him,  and  would  not  let  him  go,  though  you  did  not 
seem  to  know  who  he  was. 

"The  doctor — fetched  from  Lull  by  a  servant — said 
that  it  would  be  dangerous  to  thwart  you;  and  from 
that  night,  for  weeks,  until  you  slept  naturally  and 
came  to  yourself  again,  he  never  left  you  for  more 
than  an  hour  on  end.  If  he  were  sent  away  to  sleep 
• — ^half  dead  for  want  of  it  as  he  was — you  would 
call,  and  your  voice  would  instantly  bring  him  back. 

"He  was  half  skeleton,  half  ghost,  at  the^  end  of 
three  weeks.  How  he  lived,  no  one  knew,  but  he 
hardly  seemed  to  be  of  flesh  and  blood — he  was 
iron.  He  never  broke  down  until  you  had  fallen 
into  a  doze,  like  a  child's,  one  day.  Then,  when  he 
was  not  needed,  he  sank  into  a  chair,  half  fainting, 
and  cried  like  a  baby — poor,  unshaven,  gaunt  wretch 
that  he  was. 

"He  looked  like  an  escaped  convict,  who  had  been 
lurking,  haunte  '  and  starved,  for  a  month  in  the 
ditches  and  fore^  ,  It  will  be  a  long  time  before  he's 
the  man  he  was^  unless  you  give  him  the  only  tonic 
that  can  help  him — your  forgiveness.  What  do  you 
think,  what  do  you  say,  Consuelo?  Can  you  forgive 
George  Seaforth  now?" 

My  eyes  were  streaming  tears. 


"RING  IN  THE  NEW"  313 

"Where  is  he?"  I  asked.     "Is  he  still  at  Lull?" 

"He's  in  the  next  room,"  said  Lady  Sophie.  "Shall 
I  call  him?" 

I  nodded,  for  I  could  not  speak.  When  the  door 
opened  and  someone  came  in,  I  could  not  see  for  the 
mist  of  tears.  But  I  held  out  my  arms,  and  was  clasped 
closely — oh,  so  closely,  yet  so  gently,  as  if  I  had  a 
butterfly  body  to  break — against  the  heart  that  had 
kept  my  lamp  of  life  burning  from  its  own  flame,  dur- 
ing the  past  blank,  yet  lurid,  weeks. 

"Darling — my  darling!"  whispered  the  voice  that 
had  soothed  me  in  my  delirium.    "Do  you  forgive  me?'* 

"Do  you  forgive  me?"  I  answered.  "I  love  you — 
I  love  you  so." 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

THE   CONTENTS   OF   THE   SECRET   DRAWER 

That  day  I  did  not  care  to  hear  what  had  been 
found  In  the  secret  drawer  of  the  escritoire,  or  why 
— because  of  what  had  lain  there  for  so  long,  and  what 
it  meant  to  me  and  to  others — Lady  Dunbar  and  the 
man  who  served  her  had  wished  me  out  of  their  way. 
They  had  gone  farther  than  wishing,  there  was  little 
doubt;  but  the  man  Wynnstay  was  dead,  by  his  own 
hand,  and  Lady  Dunbar  and  Diana  had  ''gone  abroad." 
They  went  rather  suddenly,  as  I  learned  when  I  heard 
the  whole  story. 

Perhaps  James,  "Mr.  Raynor's"  valet,  had  been  far 
enough  In  his  master's  confidence  to  know  that  there 
was  an  Intimate  connection  between  the  Dunbars'  af- 
fairs and  Mr.  Wynnstay 's,  and  so  knowing,  had  sent 
a  telegram  describing  the  manner  of  that  sudden  death 
at  Arrlsh  Hall. 

At  all  events.  Lady  Dunbar  had  received  a  telegram 
at  her  cottage  in  Cowes,  had  appeared  greatly  upset, 
and  had  directed  her  maid  to  pack  a  few  things  in 
haste,  as  she  and  her  daughter  were  called  immediately 
abroad. 

The  maid  was  left  behind,  and  could  give  no  further 
information  regarding  Lady  Dunbar  and  Miss  Dun- 
314 


CONTENTS  OF  THE  SECRET  DRAWER  315 

bar's  movements  to  Inquiring  friends,  save  that  they 
had  departed  within  the  hour.  But  it  was  ascertained 
by  certain  persons  employed  "on  the  other  side"  that  the 
large  sum  of  £20,000  had  been  withdrawn  from  her 
ladyship's  bank,  and  that  the  mother  and  daughter  had 
taken  a  night  train  for  France. 

As  for  me  and  my  interests,  I  had  in  the  papers 
found  in  the  escritoire  all  the  materials  for  a  very 
strong  case — a  case  almost  too  strong  to  be  contested, 
especially  in  the  compromising  circumstances — ^which, 
if  successsful,  w^ould  have  proved  my  right  to  the  name 
of  Dunbar,  and  everything  else  that  Lady  Dunbar  and 
her  daughter  possessed. 

There  was  my  mother's  diary,  and  there  were  many 
letters,  even  one  from  Lady  Dunbar  herself,  which  she 
might  have  been  glad  to  reclaim.  Joining  the  details 
together,  a  romantic  story  was  made — just  such  a  story 
as  the  readers  of  sensational  papers  delight  in,  par- 
ticularly when  such  stories  concern  the  aristocracy, 
their  family  histories,  their  peccadilloes  and  follies, 
their  youthful  love-making  and  middle-aged  mistakes. 

But  this  story  of  the  young  Viscount  who  loved  and 
secretly  married  a  singer  has  never  been  allowed  to 
reach  the  public  eye  till  now.  The  woman  and  the 
girl  who  had  tried  to  Injure  me  I  could  afford  to  let 
go  free,  rather  than  set  scandal  In  a  blaze  about  my 
ears  and  theirs. 

I  had  George  Seaforth's  love,  and  I  was  going  to  be 
his  wife.  The  sooner  we  could  both  forget  a  past 
which  had  come  near  to  parting  us,  the  better.  I 
did  not  need  the  Dunbar  money  or  the  Dunbar  name. 


3i6  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

I  was  to  be  Consuelo  Seaforth,  and  Brand  (the  name 
which,  my  poor  mother's  diary  confessed,  had  been 
adopted  in  sorrow  and  despair,  when  she  did  not  know 
that  she  had  a  right  to  any  name  at  all)  was  to  be 
laid  away  with  the  other  things  that  did  not  need 
remembering. 

I  did  not  want  a  cause  celehre,  and  neither,  to  tell 
the  truth,  did  George;  therefore  we  spared  my  ene- 
mies, perhaps  as  much  through  consideration  for  our- 
selves as  because  we  were  too  happy  to  desire  ven- 
geance. 

So  it  is  that  the  Dunbar  money  will  some  day  go 
to  the  Crown,  because  the  two  women  who  have  dis- 
appeared into  the  unknown  (where  no  one  troubles  to 
search  for  them)  dare  not  claim  what  they  left  be- 
hind, and  I  will  not.  It  is  all  well  enough  to  talk 
about  the  poetical  justice  w^hich  should  overtake  the 
villains  of  a  story,  whether  in  real  life  or  fiction;  but 
it  seemed  to  George  and  me  that  we  needed  to  lift 
no  finger  towards  bringing  it  upon  Lady  Dunbar  and 
Diana. 

Their  punishment — ^banished  from  all  that  had  made 
existence  worth  having  to  them;  their  bitterness  of 
heart;  their  haunting,  never-wholly-absent  fear;  their 
shamed  knowledge  of  the  malicious  gossip  which  must 
surely  follow  their  sudden  flight,  even  though  the  true 
reason  for  it  were  never  known — more  than  satisfied 
our  sense  of  justice. 

And  the  man  Wynnstay  had  paid  the  penalty  for 
crimes  committed  and  crimes  intended  left  undone. 

Still,  in  these  happy  days,  when  we  have  put  sad- 


CONTENTS  OF  THE  SECRET  DRAWER  3^ 

ness  and  misunderstandings  far  behind  us,  and  George 
and  I  are  travelling  round  the  world  on  our  twelve 
months'  wedding  trip,  planning  what  we  shall  do  when 
we  go  home — how  good  we  shall  be  to  little  Jimmy 
East;  how  coals  of  fire  shall  be  heaped  on  Cousin 
Sarah's  head;  how  we  shall  try  to  brighten  and  give 
colour  to  Anne  Bryden's  gray  life ;  how  often  w^e  shall 
have  "plain  Miss  Smith"  to  visit  us  in  town  and  coun- 
try— still  I  think  constantly  of  my  beautiful  mother, 
whose  love-story  was  so  cruelly  different  from  mine. 

Sometimes  I  read  her  diary,  found  in  the  escritoire, 
and  for  an  hour  live  in  the  past  with  her.  I  see  her 
as  the  popular  singer,  Margaret  Sylvester,  though  I 
had  never  been  allowed  to  hear  that  "stage  name"  of 
hers,  except  on  the  night  when  Lady  Dunbar  had 
questioned  me,  aware  only  that  her  maiden  name  had 
been  Madge  Slater;  that  as  a  widow,  and  my  mother, 
she  had  been  called  "Mrs.  ^rand." 

I  see  her  "resting,"  after  a  hard  season  in  opera, 
far  from  the  footlights,  in  a  little  Scotch  village,  meet- 
ing there  Lord  Dunbar  and  his  younger  brother, 
travelling  with  a  friend  they  had  made  at  Oxford — 
a  man  older  than  either  of  the  brothers — Richard 
Wynnstay. 

I  see  the  love-story  unfold  in  the  pages  of  the  poor 
little  tear-blotted  diary,  which  speak  so  eloquently.  I 
even  seem  to  be  present  in  fancy  at  the  Scotch  mar- 
riage, into  which  Margaret  Sylvester  was  persuaded, 
with  Lord  Dunbar's  brother  and  Richard  Wynnstay 
for  the  only  witnesses. 

I  enter  into  her  unselfish  readiness  to  keep  the  mar- 


3i8  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

riage  secret,  because  "dearest  Eric"  would  lose  tht 
great  fortune  expected  from  his  mother's  brother,  a 
querulous  old  invalid,  if  he  married  an  actress;  and 
I  am  sorry  for  her  as  she  tries  not  to  wish  the  in- 
valid's life  shortened,  that  the  truth  may  be  proclaimed 
to  the  world. 

I  understand — oh,  so  well,  by  light  of  later  develop- 
ments!— her  distrust  of  Eric's  brother,  Napier,  and  of 
Wynnstay,  who  persuaded  Lord  Dunbar  that  it  would 
be  safer  to  have  the  marriage  simply  by  agreement, 
according  to  Scotch  law,  rather  than  "have  a  clergy- 
man and  a  real  wedding,  with  everything  proper  and 
sweet,  like  other  people." 

I  cry  when  I  read  of  the  months  that  follow,  when 
she  was  in  London  again  and  alone,  while  Lord  Dun- 
bar had  been  induced  to  accompany  his  brother  and  his 
brother's  friend  to  shoot  big  game  in  the  Rockies. 
Still  faster  do  the  tears  fall  when  I  take  in  my  hands 
the  letter  "Eric"  wrote  her  from  America,  accusing 
her  of  terrible  things  which  gossip  had  said  of  her.  I 
can  guess  so  well  who  had  started  the  gossip. 

And  then,  saddest  of  all,  perhaps  (for  everything 
might  have  come  right  if  he  had  lived),  I  turn  to 
the  paragraphs,  cut  from  old  newspapers,  telling  how 
my  father  died  in  a  desperate  encounter  with  a  grizzly 
bear  which  had  turned  at  bay  when  shot. 

Only  the  younger  brother  and  his  friend  had  been 
present,  "unable  to  reach  him  in  time  to  give  him 
any  help."  I  wonder,  as  I  read,  whether  those  two 
might  not  have  told  a  different  story  had  they  spoken 
all  the  truth?    For  I  know  now  why  they  had  both 


CONTENTS  OF  THE  SECRET  DRAWER  3^9 

a  reason  for  preventing  Lord  Dunbar's  marriage    i 
they  could. 

'I  know  that,  young  as  Lord  Dunbar's  brother  was, 
he  had  married  Richard  Wynnstay's  sister,  a  handsome 
widow,  much  older  than  he,  and— though  he  had  hid- 
den the  marriage  from  his  elder,  who  would  certainly 
have  disapproved— already  had  a  daughter  a  year  or 
two  old.  I  know  that  the  invalid  uncle  died  during 
the  brother's  visit  to  America,  and  that  the  fortune 
which  was  left  to  Lord  Dunbar  must  go  to  the  brother 
(Napier)  if  the  elder  died  unmarried. 

And  so  I  wonder  greatly  what  was  the  true  history 
of  that  scene  in  the  Rockies. 

Eric,  Lord  Dunbar,  had  always  said  before  meeting 
the  singer,  Margaret  Sylvester,  that  his  love  of  sport 
and  travel  would  keep  him  from  settling  down  to 
married  life ;  and  Napier  had  come  to  believe  that  his 
brother  would  really  remain  a  bachelor.  Therefore  he 
had  tried  to  smooth  away  the  difficulties  which  had 
arisen  through  miscalculation  as  best  he  could. 

After  Lord  Dunbar's  death,  and  his  coming  into  the 
title,  he  had  answered  a  letter  from  my  mother  by 
telling  her  that  her  marriage  with  his  brother  was  not 
legal ;  Wynnstay,  who  was  even  then  a  solicitor,  adding 
his  verdict  to  the  same  effect. 

^My  mother,  a  girl  of  twenty,  knowing  less  of  the 
real  world  than  of  the  mimic  world  of  the  stage,  had 
believed  their  word— believed  that  the  man  she  had 
loved  so  well  had  deceived  her— and,  crushed  by 
anguish  and  humiliation,  had  left  England  to  hidr  her- 
self in  France. 


320  MY  LADY  CINDERELLA 

There  I  was  born,  and  there  we  had  lived  for  sev- 
eral years  on  her  savings.  It  was  only  when  they 
were  gone  that  Mrs.  Brand,  a  widow,  broken  in  health 
and  spirits,  had  gone  to  London  to  look  for  work  as  a 
teacher  of  singing. 

As  I  read  all  this,  and  live  again  through  the  years 
of  poverty  and  hardship  which  were  my  mother's  lot, 
my  heart  does  stir  with  a  desire  for  vengeance. 

But  Wynnstay,  who  found  her  after  she  had  kept 
herself  hidden  from  him  for  so  long — Wynnstay,  who 
shared  his  sister's  income — is  out  of  reach;  and  the 
others  who  are  left  are  but  poor  puppets,  after  all. 

So  I  shut  up  the  diary,  and  put  away  the  letters, 
telling  myself  that  my  mother,  who  loved  me,  would 
be  happy  in  my  happiness;  that,  if  she  were  here,  she 
would  be  the  first  to  say:  "Love  is  everything;  let 
the  past  rest." 


THE  END 


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^'Dmi.THI  LI'BTtA.'Ry—ConiifKted. 


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71  Olivia 

72  Only  a  Girl's  Love 

73  Only  the  Governess 

74  Only  One  Love 

75  Our  Mutual  Friend 

76  Owl's  Nest,  The 

77  Pastor's  Daughter 

78  Prince  of  the  House  of 

David 

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80  Put  Yourself  in  His  Place 

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82  Quo  Vadis 

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125  We  Two 

126  Wee  Wifie 

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128  Wife  of  Monte  Cristo 

129  Who  Wins 

130  Woman  Against  Woman 

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—BOOKS   FOR  GIRLS= 


Adventures  of  a  Brow^nie, 

by  Mulock.     i2Tno,  cloth.     Price  50  cents. 

Alice's  Adventures  in  Wonderland, 

by  Lewis  Carroll.     i2mo,  cloth.    Illustrated.    Price 
50  cents. 

Brownie  of  Sanford, 

by  Carrie  L.  May.     i2mo,  cloth.     Price  50  cents. 

A  Bunch  of  Cherries, 

by   Mrs.    L.   T.    Meade.       i2mo,   cloth.      Price    50 
cents. 

Daddy's  Girl, 

by   Mrs.    L.   T.    Meade.      i2mo,   cloth.      Price    50 
cents. 

Esther, 

by  Rosa  N.  Carey.     i2mo,  cloth.     Price  50  cents. 

Faith  Gartney's  Girlhood, 

by  Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney.     i2mo,  cloth.     Price  50 
cents. 

Frances  Kane's  Fortune, 

by   Mrs.    L.   T.   Meade.      i2mo,   cloth.      Price    50 
cents. 

A  Girl  of  the  People, 

by   Mrs.   L.   T.   Meade.       i2mo,   cloth.      Price    50 
cents. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers  or  sent  Postpaid  on  receipt  of 
price  by  the  Publishers. 


M.  A.  DONOHUE  &  CO. 
415  Dearborn  St.  -  CHICAGO 


M.    A.    DONOHUS  &   COMPANY'S 

BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS^ 


A  Girl  in  Ten  Thousand,  by    Mrs.  L.  T.  Meade. 
i2mo,  cloth.     Illustrated.     Price  50  cents. 

Girls  of  St.   Wodes,  by  Mrs.  L.  T.  Meade.     i2mo, 

cloth.     Illustrated.     Price  50  cents. 
Gold  Elsie,  by  E.  Marlitt.     i2mo,  cloth.     Illustrated. 

Price  50  cents. 
Grandmother   Dear,   by  Mrs.   Molesworth.      i2mo, 

cloth.     Illustrated.     Price  50  cents. 

The  House  That  Grew,  by  Mrs.  Molesworth.     i2mo, 

cloth.     Illustrated.     Price  50  cents. 
Leona,  by  Mrs.  Molesworth.     i2mo,  cloth.     Illustrated. 

Price  50  cents. 
The  Late  Miss  HoUingford,  by  Rosa  Mulholland. 

i2mo,  cloth.     Illustrated.     Price  50  cents. 

Little  Lame  Prince,  by  Miss  Mulock.     i2mo,  cloth. 
Illustrated.     Price  50  cents. 

Little  Mother  to  the  Others,  by  Mrs.  L.  T.  Meade. 
i2mo,  cloth.     Illustrated.     Price  50  cents. 

Little  Susie  Stories,  by  Mrs.  Prentiss.     i2mo,  cloth. 
Illustrated.     Price  50  cents. 

A  Man  Without  a  Country,  by  Edward  Everett 
Hale.     i2mo,  cloth.     Illustrated.     Price  50  cents. 

Merle's  Crusade,  by   Rosa  N.  Carey.     i2mo,  cloth. 
Illustrated.     Price  50  cents. 

Miss  Toosey's  Mission  and  Laddie,  i2mo,  cloth. 
Illustrated.     Price  50  cents. 


For  saie  by  all  Booksellers  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of 
price  by  the  Publishers. 

M.  A.  DONOHUE  &  CO. 
415  Dearborn  St,  -  CHICAGO 


J70  GREAT! 

BOOKS  * 

By  the  co-author  of  **The  Lightning  Con- 
ductor" and  **My  Friend  the  Chauffeur'* 

Romantic,  entertaining  and  interesting  books  by  this  most 
popular  and  universally  admired  author. 

My  Lady  Cinderella 

By  Mrs.  C.  N.  Williamson 

A  unique,  ezciting  and  interesting  romance,  320  pages, 
large,  clear  type,  printed  on  a  very  superior  quality  of 
paper,  bound  in  best  quality  of  binders'  cloth  with  unique 
stamping  on  front  and  back  from  specially  made  designs. 

THE  HOUSE  BY  THE  LOCK 


By  Mrs.  C.  N.  Williamson 

Co-author  of  "The  Lightning  Conductor,"  "My  Friend  the 
Chauffeur,"  etc.,  a  clever  and  exciting  romance  of  intrigue 
and  love  and  one  well  worthy  of  the  reputation  of  this 
popular  author.  3i3  pages  of  large,  clear  type,  printed  on 
a  superior  quality  of  book  paper,  bound  in  binders'  best 
finished  cloth  and  embellished  with  an  ornamental  and 
unique  design  in  colors  on  the  front  and  back. 

Either  of  the  above  books  sent  postpaid  to  any  address  ir  ih^  U.  S.> 
Canada  or  Mexico  upon  receipt  of  $1.00. 

M.  A.  DONOHUE  &  COMPANY 

407-429  DeasrborQ  Street  CHICAGO.  ILL. 


Bro^wnies  and 
Other  Stories 


r^fib^iM^ 


Illustrated  by  Palmer  Cox 


320  pages  and  con- 
taining an  illustration 
on  nearly  every  page. 
The  latest  and  best 
from  the  pen  of  the 
gifted  creator  of  the 
Brownies.  An  amus- 
ing and  entertaining 
book  that  will  be 
sure  to  please. 
Printed  from  new  plates,  made  from  large, 
clear  type,  on  superfine  paper,  and  substan- 
tially bound  in  cloth  with  the  title  and 
appropriate  ornamental  design  stamped  on 
side  and  back  in  colors. 


For  sale  by  all  Book  and  Newsdealers,  or  will  be  sent  to  any  address 

in  the  tJ.  S.,  Canada  or  Mexico,  post  paid,  on  receipt  of  price* 

?5c  each,  in  currency*  money  order  or  stamps. 

M.  A.Donohue  &  Co.'*^-*g%^tI^  ^' 


the:  girl  graduate  series 


A  choice  selection  ol  the  very  best 
books  for  girls  published  in  any  line, 
being  the  most  popular  works  of  the 
most  popular  of  all  girls'  authors,  viz: 
Mary  Mapes  Dodge,  Mrs.  A.  D.  T.Whit- 
ney, Silas  K.  Hocking,  Mrs.Moleswo.'iJi, 
Mrs.L.T.Meade,  Mrs.Elizabeth  Prentiss, 
Emmy  Von  Rhoden.  A  number  of 
these  titles  are  copyright  and  not  to 
be  had  in  any  other  edition,  making 
altogether  a  classic  list  of  girls'  books. 

The  books  are  bound  in  art  shades 
of  extra  quality  silk  cloth  and  the 
covers  are  stamped  with  entirely  new, 
delicately  colored  designs,  giving  a 
different  cover  design  for  the  work  of 
each  author  and  large,  new  up-to-date 
side  and  back  title  letterings.  Ihe 
printing  is  from  clear  type,  new 
plates,  on  a  superior  quality  of  paper, 
making  thicker  books  than  usual  in 
any  other  girls'  library.  Each  book 
in  a  printed  wrapper,  bearing  the 
cover  design  and  title. 

25  Selected  Titles 

1  Cuckoo  Clock Mrs.  Molesworth 

2  Daddy's  Girl Mrs.  L.  T.  Meade 

3  Deb  and  the  Duchess Mrs.  L.  W.  Meade 

4  Faith  Gartney's  Girlhood Mrs. A.D.T. Whitney 

5  Girls  and  I Mrs.  Molesworth 

6  Good  Luck Mrs.  L.  T.  Meade 

7  Grandmother   Dear Mrs.    Molesworth 

8  Her  Benny Silas  K.   Hocking 

9  House  That  Grew Mrs.  Molesworth 

10  Irvington  Stories Mary  Mapes  Dodge 

11  Light  of  the  Morning Mrs.  L.  T.  Meade 

12  Merry  Girls  of  England Mrs.  L.  T.  Meade 

13  Next  Door  House Mrs.  Molesworth 

14  Out  of  the  Fashion Mrs.  L.  T.  Meade 

15  Palace  Beautiful Mrs.  L.  T.  Meade 

16  Polly Mrs.  L.  T.  Meade 

17  Robin  Redbreast Mrs.  Molesworth 

18  Stepping  Heavenward Mrs.    Prentiss 

19  Sweet  Girl  Graduate Mrs.  L.  T.  Meade 

20  Taming  a  Tomboy Emmy  Von  Rhoden 

21  The  Young  Mutineer Mrs.  L.  1j.  Meade 

22  "Us" Mrs.  Molesworth 

23  Very  Naughty  Girl,  A Mrs.  L.  T?.  Meade 

24  Wild  Kitty Mrs.  L.  T.  Meade 

25  World  of  Girls. -Mrs.  L.  T.  Meade 

For  tile  by  all  Book  and  Newsdealers,  or  will  b«  sent  t»  any  address  In  the  U.  S.,  Canada  or 

Meiico,  postpaid,  upon  receipt  of  price,  $1,00  each,  in  cuxrenoy,  mocej  order  or  stamps. 

a.  A.  DONOHVG  A  GO.     407-429  Dearborn  St.      CHICAGO 


THE 

Sweet  Clover  Stories 

FOR  GIRLS 

*  "  =^ 

BY  MRS.  CARRIE  L.  MAY 


INCLUDING 


Brownie  Sanford 

Nellie  Milton's  Housekeeping 

Sylvia^s  Burden 

Ruth  Lovell 


12mo.    Illustrated.    Attractively  bound  in  veUum  de  hixe 

cloth  and  stamped  in  three  colors.    Sent  postpaid 

on  receipt  of  50  cents  per  volume,  or  $1.75 

for  the  complete  set. 


M.  A.  DONOHUE  &  COMPANY 
415  Dearborn  St.    -    Chicago 


r 


Patriotic  Recitations  and  Readings 

Compiled  by  CHARLES  WALTER  BROWN 

This  is  the  choicest,  newest  and  most  complete  collection  of 
Patriotic  recitations  published,  and  includes  all 
of  the  best  known  selections,  together«with  the  best 
utterances  of  many  eminent  statesmen.  Selections 
for  Decoration  Day,  Fourth  of  July,  Washington's 
and  Lincohi's  Birthdays,  Arbor  Day,  Labor  Day, 
and  all  other  Patriotic  occasions. 

There  are  few  more  enjoyable  forms  of  amuse- 
ment than  entertainments  and  exhibitions,  and  there 
is  scarcely  anything  more  difficult  to  procure  than 
new  and  meritorious  material  appropriate  for  such 
occasions.  This  book  is  designed  to  fill  the  want. 
Handsomely  bound  ir\  Paper  Covers  .  •  .  25  Cents 
Cloth 50  Cents 


Complete  Guide  to  Dancing 

Ba!!-Room  Etiquette  and  Quadrille  Call  Book 

Containing  all  the  new  and  modem  square  dances  and  tabulated 

forms   for  the   guidance  of   the  leader  or  others  in  calling  them. 

Full  and  complete  directions  for  perforrning  every 

known  sqixare  dance,  such  as  Plain  Quadrilles,  Polka 

Quadrilles,      Prairie      Queen,    Varieties      Quadrille, 

Francaise,    Dixie    Figure,    Girl   I   Left    Behind    Me, 

Old    Dan   Tucker,    Money   Musk,    Waltz    Lanciers, 

Military    Lanciers,     Columbian    Lanciers,    Oakland 

Minuet,  Wahz  Quadrilles,  etc.,  etc. 

The  "German"  introduces  over  One  Hundred  of 
the  newest  and  most  popular  Figures,  fully  described, 
and  conveniently  grouped  for  ready  reference. 

Every  information  in  regard  to  the  service  of 
Bail-Room  Etiquette,  duties  of  Leaders  and  general 
instruction  is  fully  and  clearly  given. 

Handsomely  bound  ir\  Paper  Covers       .      .     25  Cents 
Cloth 50  Cents 


For  sale  by  all  Book  and  Newsdealers,  or  will  be  sent  to  any 
address  in  the  United  States,  Canada  or  Mexico,  postage  paid* 
on  receipt  or  price,  in  currency,  money  order  or  stamps. 

M.  A.  DONOHUE  &  CO.  '^Ttt'iicTio""' 


Mrsm  L,»  T.  Meade 
Serie^s 


AN  EXCELLENT  edition  of  the  works  of  this  very 
^^  popular  author  of  books  for  girls.  Printed  from  large 
type  on  an  extra  quality  of  paper,  cover  design  stamped  in 
three  colors,  large  side  title  letterings,  each  book  in  glazed 
paper  printed  wrapper. 

Bad  Little  Hannah 

A  Bunch  of  Cherries 
Children's  Pilgrimage 
Daddy's  Girl 

V>Qh  and  the  Duchess 

Frances  Kane's  Fortune 
A  Girl  of  the  People 
Good  Luck  A  Girl  in  Ten  Thousand 

The  Honorable  Miss  Girls  of  St.  Wodes 

Light  of  the  Morning 

Little  Mother  to  the  Others 
The  Medicine  Lady 

Merry  Girls  of  Englant^ 
Palace  Beautiful  A  Modern  Tomboy 

Polly— A  New  FashionsL^  5irl  Out  of  Fashion 

School  Favorite 

Sweet  Girl  Graduate 
Time  of  Roses 

A  Very  Naughty  Girl 
Wild  Kitty 

World  of  Girls 

Young  Mutineer 


ANY  OF  ABOVE   TITLES   SENT  POST- 
PAID UPON  RECEIFr  OF  FIFl  Y  CENTS 


Mo  A,  Donohue  i^  Co. 

^07 "4-29  'Beurborn  Street  C H I C  A.  G  O 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  50  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


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